The Other Place
by hiddeninthelibrary
Summary: Sequel to the Whispering Skull. Lucy's getting strange, repetitive nightmares, the skull is acting even weirder, and there are horrifying secrets that lay undiscovered in Portland Row. There's a sudden crisis with the iron and silver supplies, agencies and residents alike are panicking, and startling truths are revealed about the realm known as the Other Place. [UPDATED 21/1]
1. Nightmares- Chapter 1

**A/N: The ending of the Whispering Skull made me look at this series in a different way, and I guess that's what inspired this story. This is the first fanfic I'm publishing that's not going to be a oneshot, so updates may not always be regular, but I'll update once a week most of the time. So yeah, I really hope you enjoy.**

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Nightmares and Visions

1

At that time, the only thing I could do was run.

My lungs ached; I had a stitch in my side. My legs protested with every step I took. But sprinting was the only escape from the monster behind me.

I seemed to be running forever; wind whistled in my ears as I hastened ahead. Time dragged on. What was actually seconds seemed like hours. Pain shot through my legs and dulled my senses, and my heart ached from the sudden exercise. _Just. Keep. Going._

A loud scream erupted from the blackness of the tunnel that I'd just fled from. The noise sent a shiver down my spine. I was so, so alone. I wished I had someone with me. I didn't care who. I couldn't face this horror by myself!

It was so dark I couldn't see where I was going, but I couldn't care less. I just needed to _move!_

And then, suddenly, a wall appeared in front of me from nowhere. I slammed into it, and the impact caused me to fall backwards. I scrambled to my feet and began pounding on the wall, desperately hoping it was hollow somewhere and I could get through.

A harsh breeze blew through the tunnel, and I heard an angry snarl behind me.

I spun around to face a tall, white apparition.

Its eyes were narrowed, and fury was written all over its face. Two long fangs jutted out of a mouth that was turned downwards in a cruel frown. Its coat was ripped; the nails on its fingers were long and curved, like talons. Long, stringy hair hung suspended in midair, giving the ghost an even more menacing appearance. But what was worst was the dark circular stain in the center of its stomach, and streaks of black liquid pooling out of the bullet wound.

 _Revenge._ A hundred whispers hissed angrily in my head. _You are a disgrace, and what you did was unforgivable._

The Visitor's Other-Light flared; it lunged at me with a horrid psychic wail, and I heard screaming that I knew was mine-

-I sat up in bed, gasping. I clutched my pillow to my face, muffling screams. I rocked back and forth. My nightclothes stuck to my back and my stomach. The bedsheets were damp with my sweat. I tried to stop panicking, but it was no use. That nightmare was _horrible._ It all felt so...real. As if it were actually going to happen to me.

I shakily walked to the bathroom, where I rinsed my face with cold water and stared into the blank eyes of my reflection.

Five days. I'd been experiencing that nightmare since five days.

Ever since Lockwood had-

I stopped thinking so hard. I forced myself to calm down by taking deep, stilling breaths. I pushed away my fear and listened to the tranquil silence of my surroundings- the slight _whoosh_ of leaves blowing in the wind outside; the ticking of the clock on my nightstand.

My heart rate slowed. I walked over to my bed drowsily and stared at the clock. It was 5 am. Not too early. George always woke up at 7. It would be only two hours before the day actually started.

I trudged down the creaky staircase, eager to make myself a cup of tea.

I reached the kitchen and brought out a mug, some milk and teabags. I tried to make the least possible amount of noise as I began boiling water on the stove.

I switched on a light and sat down at the dining table, thinking about my nightmare again.

This was the fifth time I'd gotten it. It never changed. It was always the same thing- I kept running after hearing a scream, hit a wall and gotten ghost-touched. I hadn't the faintest clue on what could have possibly triggered it.

Stress? Most certainly not.

Too many conversations with the Skull? Possibly.

Some gut instinct? Also plausible.

But the thing Lockwood had said to us?

The idea was insane and believable at the same time.

I heard a shrill whistle from the kitchen and hurried to get the kettle off. I made myself a cup of tea and sat down, sipping it. It calmed me somewhat. I grabbed a sketchbook that I had left lying around earlier and began to draw, my hand so shaky that the lines I etched on the paper came out harsh and deep.

I hadn't told Lockwood or George about my nightmares. I'd been hoping they would go away on their own, and besides, they weren't important- just bad dreams. We had enough on our plate, anyway.

And what made our schedule so crowded?

Cases. Ever since we'd solved the Bickerstaff case, our publicity had gone up. Our casebook had been filling up rapidly, and we'd been getting more than three calls a day- but maybe it was a bit too much to handle. We were working around the clock now- sometimes going to the extent of three quick cases in a night. It seemed unbelievable at first, but since most of them weren't exceptionally dangerous or long, it was manageable.

But to our great concern, and the anxiety of agents and residents as well, there seemed to be a great iron and silver shortage. The trucks that shipped swords, charms, filings and chains seemed to have a great depletion of stock. The factories barely sent out anything anymore, and as to why, no one had a clue. So now people frantically hoarded lavender and salt, kept running water in pots and troughs around their houses every night, and got rid of any old or suspicious artifacts that might be a Source. Iron or silver charms and necklaces were scattered all around beds and windows, and were hung around everyone's necks. Nobody felt safe anymore, not even with the agencies doing their best.

Oh, and that skull.

It troubled me to no end- gawking and gaping at me every night, and on select days, it would mouth words at me. Every time I turned the yellow tap, it would begin to speak, but as soon as Lockwood and George entered the room it clammed up.

"Why act like this when they're around?" I muttered angrily to it as they left the room the fourth time this happened. "It's not like they can hear you anyway."

I was about to turn the knob when it spoke in a silky whisper. _"It's all about your reaction."_

And it went silent again.

I'd pondered its words for days, and tried to get it to talk, but Lockwood and George seemed to be there all the time, George especially. He would try endless experiments on it, such as wash its surface with dish soap, or even immerse it in a tub of water for prolonged periods of time, all to get it to start talking about the Other Place.

The bone-glass was a fascinating mystery, and George wasn't the only one intrigued by it. His excitement had rubbed off on me and even Lockwood, which was quite surprising, since he barely got mixed up with theories of the dwellings of Visitors. I, on the other hand, would spend every night in the room with it, trying to make it spill the beans, but it spoke occasionally and not always. This frustrated me to no end.

I snapped back to reality as I realized that my mug was empty. I had no idea how much time had passed- I made myself another cup, drew three pictures, and even tried to read one of Lockwood's gossip magazines. And when I looked up at the clock at saw it was 6:30. I rested my chin on the table and closed my eyes, trying to fully calm myself.

And that's how George found me at 7 am, still in the same position, my eyes closed and my breathing steady.

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 **A/N: So please, please tell me in a review how it is because I really like the idea of this and I hope you do too. This chapter may seem a bit slow, and really short, but I guarantee a big twist somewhere along the plot. Thanks!**

 **-Artemis**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Back with another chapter, right on time! Enjoy!**

 **Oh, and if anyone's wondering if there's going to be Locklyle/Lucewood in this, here's your answer- I'm thinking about it. I really love them together, but I suck at writing those sort of scenes. What do you reckon?**

 **Before I forget- thanks a bunch for 73 views within a week! 73 may not be a lot for some people, but for me it's great. Awesome!**

 **And as for those four reviewers- thank you! They were pretty motivational.** **Anyway, please read, review and enjoy!**

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2

I woke up, once more, to George waving his hand in my face.

"Lucy? What are you doing here?" he asked once I lifted my head and blearily rubbed my eyes.

"What does it look like, Cubbins?" I grumbled, stifling a yawn.

"It looks like you came down here sleepwalking and wrecked the kitchen."

My sleepiness vanished.

"What?"

"What did you do to the kitchen?"

I stood up clumsily and hurried to where George was pointing. My jaw dropped as I stared at the scene.

Cupboard doors hung open. The platform was strewn with spoons and teabags, the kettle was still on the stove(thankfully not boiling), and spilled water dripped from the platform to the floor.

"Lord, what happened here?" I asked, gawking.

"You tell me," George said, folding his arms.

I stared at him, wondering if he was actually accusing me of 'wrecking' the kitchen.

"I didn't do this," I muttered, still confused. "I couldn't sleep at night, so I came down and made myself a cup of tea. That's it. I didn't..." I trailed off.

He sighed. "Were you blundering around in the dark, or did you care to switch a light on?"

"I switched one on at the table, not in here-"

"Then you must have knocked over all this stuff. I'm fine with you sleeping at the table, but don't mess up my kitchen." he shook his head.

I felt a slight tweak of irritation. I wasn't as clumsy as George thought I was. I _couldn't_ have knocked down all this stuff without noticing- but there was no other reasonable explanation, so I blamed it on my tired state and started cleaning it up. I mopped the floor, put the kettle and the spoons back in their place, and arranged the teabags neatly. I then walked up the stairs to my room to get ready for the day.

As I made my way up to the attic, I heard a sudden hiss and a sharp creak to my right. I spun around to face the door of the forbidden room- which wasn't so forbidden anymore. The door was shut. It had no lock. I could make out slight bumps indicating strips of iron laid near the frame.

I forced myself to look away, still weary of the noise I heard. I shook it off and went upstairs to get changed.

I walked towards the dining table, the change of clothes making me feel much more comfortable. I was dressed in my usual dark skirt and leggings, a black shirt and a brown coat. I wore boots that were singed in many places by ectoplasm, and were very worn-out. My typical agent outfit.

I took a seat opposite Lockwood, who smiled at me in greeting.

"Good morning, Luce," he said.

"Morning, Lockwood," I replied.

Ever since the Bickerstaff case, the three of us had gotten even closer. I didn't get so angry with George- both of us had calmed down a little. I supposed that after he had 'died' I realized how important his friendship was to me. If friends throw saucepans at each other and force one another to clean the kitchen, that is.

Lockwood had come clean with everything. And I mean _everything._ He didn't want to keep any more secrets. Five days earlier, he had told us all about his past life. The shocking truth of his past jarred me. I couldn't bear to think about it, and I realized that that was how Lockwood felt every single day of his life until he told us. He had bore with all those bad memories, and had yet stayed so calm and composed. This assured me of his leadership.

Although it might have driven a rift between us as well.

All of us were more distant, more preoccupied. I might not have been paying attention much, but I thought that we didn't speak to each other as often as before. George and I would never look at Lockwood the same way.

And I think he knew that.

That was probably why he was even more determined to rid London of ghosts- his energy fueled us on. Our agency was powered by a force that was both positive and negative, switching constantly from either side.

I grabbed my third cup of tea that day and a plate of buttered toast, and began to eat. Lockwood was reading the newspaper. George hummed to himself as he plopped down next to me with his plate and a fat doughnut in his hand. There was silence at the table, save for the clinking of cutlery and our munching.

The phone rang, causing all three of us to look up sharply.

"I'll get it," said George, getting out of his chair and rushing to the phone. I continued chewing, keeping my eyes low. It was another customer, of course. Those were the only calls we'd been getting for the past five days.

I was right.

George kept speaking, his tone slightly incredulous, and then he inhaled sharply. My brows furrowed slightly as he continued rambling in a low, awed voice. He then mumbled a few words to the person on the other end of the line, and put down the phone.

"That was a Ms. Audley," he said. "She says she's got a serious manifestation in her house. She made an appointment for this afternoon. Her case is rather interesting."

"What's so interesting about it?" I asked.

"Well, she's forty years old..."

"And?"

"...She can see ghosts."

There was pin-drop silence as Lockwood and I absorbed what he'd just said.

"That's impossible!" I exploded.

"That's miraculous," Lockwood said in a hushed tone.

"That's not the end of it," George said. "She's supposed to be a seer."

There was dead silence in the living room. The clock's constant ticking was the only supply of noise as we waited for our client, slightly tense.

The weather was chilly, with clouds so thick that not a single ray of sunlight could peek through. The air was full of moisture. A light fog settled all around our street. It matched the serious atmosphere in the room.

It was afternoon. We had tidied the living room for our new client's arrival. We were all alert, slightly excited, waiting for her to come.

"A seer- a fortune teller?" I finally spoke up. "You mean, the ones who sit in front of their crystal balls and look into the future?"

"Actually, that's untrue. They're just portrayed that way. They're supposed to just read palms and stare into your eyes- those sorts of simple, unsettling things." George stated.

"This is going to be interesting," Lockwood said. He was the least edgy of the three of us- his eyes shone with excitement. "She can see ghosts! That's probably the achievement of the century- right after you being able to talk to that revolting skull, Luce. Well, this woman could be faking it, but who cares? Let's take a chance."

I began to grin, roused by Lockwood's energy. "What's her name, again?" I asked.

"Audley. Sybil Audley." George said at once.

The three of us paused to mull over her first name.

"That's not a very common name, is it?"

"Well, this is a rather uncommon case, too," Lockwood pointed out.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

We all stood up at the same time. I went to get the door.

My hand rested on the doorknob for a second before I wrenched it open.

What met my eyes wasn't what I had been expecting.

I had thought Ms. Audley to be a hunched woman with glossy black curls and too much makeup, swathed in rings, necklaces of jade, beads and shawls. Instead I saw someone gentler- a woman my height, wrinkles lining her face, with watery blue eyes filled with kindness. Even though she was only forty, her head was filled with a shock of white hair that was loosely tied with a rubberband. The sleeves of her dress drooped over her wrists, and its tresses flowed around her ankles. She had three golden amulets around her neck, and two bangles on each hand- that was all the jewelry she wore.

In other words, she wasn't somebody you'd meet on the street everyday.

"Hello, are you Ms. Audley?" I asked.

She smiled at me serenely, seeming to glow. "Yes, I am."

I stepped aside to let her in the house and we all sat down; me, Lockwood and George on chairs, and Ms. Audley on the couch opposite.

"So, Ms. Audley, what seems to be the problem?" Lockwood asked. His hands were clasped on his lap; he sat in between me and George. George held a notebook, a pen poised above the sheet, ready to take notes. I simply sat, observing her a bit more.

"These are lovely artifacts you've got here," she said lightly.

"Yes, thank you." He cleared his throat. "So-"

"Pity they have so much death attached to them," she added disdainfully.

Lockwood's head turned sharply. He looked confused. "What?"

"That one, it ought to be put in silver-glass. You're lucky that Visitor isn't haunting you. It's only a matter of time."

We looked at one of the objects in Lockwood's collection. It was a simple, harmless looking white mask.

"...You had better heed my suggestion. It could travel here today. It could travel here tomorrow."

Nobody spoke.

"What do you mean by 'travel'?" asked George, leaning forward.

"Oh, from the other realm to this one."

There were sharp intakes of breath from all three of us. "You mean the Other Place?" George asked.

"Ms. Audley, why do you think that mask is haunted?" asked Lockwood slowly.

She tore away from the vast collection and looked at us again. "I just know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes sparkled, but her tone was grieving. "Now, I believe that you called me here for an appointment date?"

Lockwood now looked just a little more than annoyed. "Yes, we did. What seems to be the problem?"

"It's not exactly a problem, really."

George finally dropped the pen, exasperated.

"I can handle those ghosts. They leave me alone most of the time. But they began to start troubling me-"

She suddenly looked directly into my eyes, dead serious.

"-about five days ago."

My brows shot up in confusion and shock. This couldn't be a coincidence.

She didn't drop her gaze- I felt uncomfortable, as though she was staring into my soul.

A part of me wondered, _does she know?_

"And now they don't leave me alone." she finally turned to Lockwood. "I've done what I can, but I need to leave the rest to you."

He nodded, mystified.

"Ms. Audley, what do the ghosts look like?" I asked.

She smiled sweetly at me. "Call me Sybil, dear. Well, the manifestation is rather serious. Three Changers, one Poltergeist, and two Spectres."

The three of us stared.

"And you've been experiencing these hauntings for how long?" George asked.

"Ever since I moved in, ten years ago."

"So why are you coming to us now?" Lockwood asked, his voice lined with flat disbelief.

"Something," she said, once again shooting me a knowing glance, "triggered them, and now they simply won't leave me alone. Before this, I was never bothered by them."

Lockwood's tone was resigned, unappreciative. "Well, I believe we can make an appointment for the coming Thursday," he said. "Until then, will you be able to manage?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I think I'll do quite fine."

We stood up. She shook our hands. When she grasped mine, I felt a slight electric current running up my arm. At the same time that happened, she looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock, and maybe even remorse. Her gaze lingered on mine for a second before she swept around and we showed her out. Before she left, she made a last comment.

"Believe me, you solving this case will help not only me, but your agency as well."

She walked across the stone pathway, turned left and strode down the street, soon disappearing into the fog.

"The coming Thursday," I said, still peering down the road. "Two days from now?"

Lockwood ran a hand through his hair. "I don't think we need to do much research on this. The case is probably a mild haunting, not much. It's simply unbelievable."

"Three Changers, one Poltergeist, and two Spectres?" George sighed. "Why haven't they attacked her before? I don't mean to be rude, but she's probably a little off her rocker."

There was a pause.

"Well, we've to get ready for tonight's case," Lockwood said. "Lucy, would you ready the duffels?"

I nodded and went down to the basement.

I didn't share Lockwood's and George's opinions. Yes, the case sounded completely illogical. Yes, her presumptions confused us all. She gave herself the title of a seer- and exactly how many people in London were genuine fortune tellers?

And yet, there were many things that made me believe her.

The electric shock running up my arm.

Her appearance at the exact same time I was having my nightmares.

The fact that the Visitors had been troubling her since _five days._

At that moment, I was extremely confused. I didn't know what to believe.

I switched on a light and dug around for supplies. I pulled out three duffel bags and began stuffing them with equipment- iron chains, tins of filings, magnesium flares; two rapiers and three salt bombs in each- and readied our belts. I hooked rapiers on each, carefully placed canisters of Greek Fire in their hooks, stuffed salt bombs in their pockets, and finally attached cans of filings to them.

Luckily for us, we had only one case tonight. So that didn't mean endless work, or running from house to house. Our schedule was relaxed.

I blew a strand of hair out of my face as I neatly arranged the duffels and belts side by side. I switched off the light and was about to head back up when a green glow filled the darkness of the room- dim at first, then increasing in brightness. I walked towards the source of light and recoiled when I noticed what it was.

The skull, grinning at me through the silver-glass.

I stared at it, feeling sick and nervous and curious at the same time. I grabbed a thick, heavy cloth from the nearest table and covered it. The glow shut off at once. It would probably be mouthing foul words at me now, but I didn't really care anymore. I walked up the staircase, leaving the basement and the skull all alone.

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 **A/N: Well, that's done. Thanks for the views, and the compliments, and the favs, and the follows! They helped a lot!**

 **Also... This chapter has more than double the number of words that the previous chapter had, so there you go, a nice long one to keep you preoccupied. I reread the previous chapter and realized that there were SO MANY TYPOS, oh my Gods. I had to replace the chapter.**

 **What do you think about this mysterious, half-wacko Ms. Audley? Tell me in a review or a PM. I worked on this chapter for three days... So yeah.**

 **I'll update within a week! Thanks for reading!**

 **-Artemis**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: NANANA I FINISHED MAKING MY COVER PICTURE! How is it? :D**

 **And OH MY GOSH, 205 VIEWS! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!**

 **I couldn't resist posting this two days early, so I'm back with Chapter 3, woohoo. Hope you like it!**

 **Also, just so you know: school's starting for me in a few days and updates** _ **may**_ **get irregular when there are action scenes, or a climax. But for now I'll update once a week. I'm taking this neither too fast nor too slow, right now, because if I rush into this I'll get Writer's Block. :/**

 **This chapter is very slightly longer than the previous, haha. I hope you enjoy :)**

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3

"What-what time is it?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

George checked his watch. "It's 10 pm. Where on Earth is that Visitor?"

I found that to be a pretty ironical statement, since ghosts don't exactly come from Earth.

"Why didn't you get your watch?" Lockwood asked me, scanning our surroundings.

"I just... forgot to bring it." I said.

That was true. I was so tired due to my lack of sleep. I'd gotten six hours of rest, and that might be OK for most normal people, but my nightmares and our crazy schedule made it feel ten times worse.

A breeze ran through the park, and the temperature dropped all of a sudden. The air felt heavy and moist, and I wanted to just lie down there and sleep...

...That was the Malaise, of course.

"Ghost's here," I said.

Lockwood turned around and nudged us. "Can you see it?" he asked, pointing.

Even though my Sight wasn't nearly as good as Lockwood's, I could make out a faint black shape- a rather plump woman, wearing what faintly looked like an oversized jumper. She hobbled across the grass, away from us.

"I can't believe it," grumbled George. "We came here to deal with a _Shade?"_

And then we turned and came face-to-face with a very disgusting Raw-Bones.

The three of us sprang back, but didn't jump out of the iron. The Raw-Bones glared at us with empty eye sockets, torn flesh, and crooked, blackened teeth.

"Think twice before you say something like that, George," I muttered.

Our clients had given us a case in which the park that surrounded their house seemed haunted- at night, Mr and Mrs Andrews could hear crashes and creaks, and their children could see faint, disturbingly shaped apparitions, accompanied with whispers and moans. I think I had overprepared for the situation; the duffels were stuffed, and were a liability to carry. All for this. The ghost wasn't exceptionally powerful- it kept flickering in and out of focus, and it didn't thrash against the iron like a normal, vengeful Raw-Bones would. It seemed rather resigned and slightly weary of the protective circle around us.

"So, salt bombs, then?" I asked.

"Salt bombs it is." Lockwood said, fishing one out from his belt.

He took a step forward and lobbed it out of the circle; it landed on the Visitor and with a pained howl, it vanished. I winced at the sound.

"It won't take long to reform, so we have to move quickly," he said. We turned and saw the same Shade lurking around a patch of trees, before moving in the direction opposite ours.

We ambled out of the circle and headed for the trees. On reaching, I tripped over something and landed face-down on the mud. I got on my knees and looked carefully at the object I'd stumbled over. I could make out faint outlines of a stone slab embedded into the mud.

"I found something," I said. "We need to dig,"

George, behind us, brought out the spade he'd thoughtfully carried, and began to shovel away all the dirt. After a few seconds, he exposed the block. All three of us bent down and heaved it upwards; it broke free from the soil with a wrenching sound. I shone my flashlight into the hole, and saw several different objects. Papers. Books. Sealed envelopes. A tiny wooden box, which I knew was supposed to contained jewelry. All sorts of odd trinkets too ordinary to have any importance. I didn't know why they were buried.

"Oh, I read about this," said George. "Apparently some couple hid their loved possessions in this area because there was some thief running around the streets. They didn't want him to break into their house and take everything nice, so they planted it under this tree. Supposedly the wife died peacefully a week later, and the husband was trying to take all this out. He disappeared. I don't know what happened to him."

I picked up the thing closest to me from the hole- a book. Sudden voices rang out in my ears. I shut my eyes and concentrated, trying to discern the echoes.

Now, I was in a field, watching a man bury things with a kindly woman next to him. I saw the man shovel a last mound of dirt into the hole and seal it with a stone slab. They both walked off into the house nearby, holding hands...

The scene changed. It was night, and the same man was frantically ripping things out of the hole. I felt his emotions. He was panicky. He was anxious. He needed something to be done, and fast.

Somebody came behind him, and stuck a knife into his back. He cried out in pain, and I too felt a sudden, sharp jolt just below my neck. It was excruciating. My eyesight dimmed, and I could briefly make out the burglar grab a few things from the hole before sealing it and taking off into the night.

"Lucy!"

I was back in reality. Lockwood looked at me strangely. His hands were on my shoulders, as though he'd been shaking me.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You held the book, your eyes glazed over, and then you suddenly started cringing like you were possessed," George said, rubbing his glasses on his shirt casually. If I were dying he'd be as indifferent.

"I know what happened," I said, quickly dropping the book. "I think the thief killed him while he was excavating all this, nicked whatever he wanted to, and ran away. This fellow turned into a Type Two, wanting to take revenge. And both of them- the husband and the wife- felt the need to take out all this sooner or later- something they never did- so she turned into a Shade, and him a Raw-Bones."

Lockwood and George stared at me. I didn't blame them. I hadn't known what had overcome me- I had just felt the echoes, followed them, and understood what had happened. I was slightly disturbed at the fact that everything just seemed so... Real. All the panic, the anxiety, and that white-hot pain.

And then I saw something rise behind Lockwood- the Raw-Bones, its burnt hand reaching towards him with ghostly fingers-

I pushed him aside with a cry and threw a salt bomb at it, not thinking. It exploded with a hiss- salt rained down on my face, giving me tiny blisters. I felt tiny pricks on my palm as I brushed the remaining salt off my coat with trembling hands.

There was silence as the three of us panted. "Lucy! Lockwood!" George said, his voice filled with concern. "Are you OK?"

Lockwood sat up. "That was quick thinking, Luce," he said in a low voice. He was slightly awed. "Thank you."

I nodded, my whole body numb with shock. "Yeah, no problem."

We sealed the Source by throwing an iron net over the entire bundle and once again recovering the hole. We'd tell the house owners the next morning. We then walked away from the scene, duffels in hand.

"I wonder which one of them was _actually_ the Source, though," Lockwood said, slightly frowning.

"Who values a book and scraps of paper over their bones?" George shook his head in incredulity.

But I was still worried and slightly scared, for two reasons.

That my back still throbbed, as though someone had stuck a knife in between my two shoulder blades.

And that the Raw-Bones had touched me.

It had grasped my arm. I had felt it.

And yet, I wasn't blue or dead.

My arm was perfectly fine.

We returned to Portland Row, all three of us tired. I dumped the bags in a corner and undid my belt. Lockwood and George did the same. Lockwood and I sat down at the dining table, while George busied himself in the kitchen, making us all cups of tea.

I kept looking at my hand and feeling it, but it didn't hurt. It didn't have pins and needles. It didn't throb, or swell up, as Lockwood's had done when _he'd_ been ghost-touched. I was beginning to believe that I'd just imagined the Visitor grazing my wrist.

Lockwood saw me fingering my arm, and spoke up. "What are you doing, Luce?"

I looked up sharply and faked a smile. "Oh, it's just sore," I lied through my teeth. I felt bad about fibbing, and not telling him about the nightmares, especially after he'd come clean about his life.

 _Well, he lied too, once. He doesn't deserve the truth,_ a part of me reasoned resentfully.

Wait. Where did that thought come from? I never say anything hateful about Lockwood and George. I hadn't spoken that out loud, though, which was a relief. I still frowned at the sudden thought.

Lockwood nodded. "You saved my life," he said. "Thanks for that."

"Oh, it's no problem." We were talking casually, as if saving each other's lives was something we did on a daily basis.

OK, maybe it is. Still, our tone was maybe too carefree for a topic like that.

George came in and gave us steaming hot mugs. He sat down in a chair, sipping his. In one of his hands was a doughnut.

"That case was rather simple for a Raw-Bones," he said.

I nodded in agreement; Lockwood absentmindedly murmured, "Yes, it was."

We drank our tea silently. We didn't really talk much.

And then I realized, maybe what we had seen five days ago _was_ making us drift apart, in a way. We didn't utter another word to each other; currently, we were as silent as ghosts to a non-Sensitive.

Before I knew it, I had finished my cup. I went to the kitchen to rinse it with water, and I caught my reflection in the glass doors of the cupboard.

I had dark circles around my eyes.

I sighed, washing my cup. I needed to rest.

"I'm going to bed," I announced to Lockwood and George as I made my way upstairs.

George grunted, indicating that he'd acknowledged my words.

"Goodnight," Lockwood said, distracted by a gossip magazine he had fished out from nowhere.

I reached my room, quickly changed my clothes, and crashed into my bed. I was _so_ tired, but I was almost afraid to fall asleep, due to the nightmares.

My eyelids closed as soon as my head hit the pillow. My blankets seemed to hug me. The darkness of the room comforted me, and soon I drifted off.

I jolted awake, gasping for breath. It was morning- sunlight fell across the floorboards of my room in showers, but it did little to warm me. My skin was clammy; my nightclothes stuck to my front. I frantically looked around, but I was in Portland Row, in the safety of my room, and I was fine.

I'd had the nightmare for the sixth time that week. It hadn't changed. It was the same scenario of running through a tunnel, before confronting a ghost. One would have thought that after getting the same dream over and over, you'd get used to them. But no. It doesn't work that way. While dreaming, you have no idea of what's real and what isn't. You don't remember whether you've experienced the situation before, or if it's the first time. Your dream is set to only that scene, and you have no consciousness of anything else. You live in that moment, and reality is locked up in the corner of your mind in a place you can't access it until you wake up.

The first time I'd gotten it, I had woken up with a scream. I had hugged my blankets to my chest, despite the fact that I was hot and sweaty. Those sorts of nightmares are the worst- where you're so afraid, you're stuck in that situation, and you have the knowledge that you're going to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut once more, stilling my breaths. I proceeded to push myself off the floor with a groan-

Hold on a minute. Floor?

I looked up and saw my bed next to me, and the clock on my nightstand showing the time- 8 am.

I was lying on the ground.

I stood up. I must have fallen off the bed while sleeping. I rushed to my bathroom to get out of my sticky nightdress.

And stopped dead as I noticed something from the corner of my eye.

I turned to see the skull.

There was no cloth on it. The yellow tap was open. Chills ran up my spine as I considered the fact that it might have been watching me all night.

I turned the knob and covered it with the nearest kerchief I could find. I then grabbed a spare set of clothes and had a quick shower before going down to eat breakfast. Just before leaving, I grabbed the skull and descended the staircase, muttering a foul oath as I went. George always experimented with it; he must have dumped it in my room after one of those pointless investigations.

The culprit himself was up making breakfast, as always; Lockwood wasn't there.

"George," I said, irritated, "why did you put the _skull_ in my _room?"_

"What a nice way to start the morning," he said sarcastically. He cracked an egg over a frying pan and continued cooking.

" _George."_ I snapped. _"Why was this foul thing in my room?"_ I slammed the jar down on the table, making the skull inside rattle. That caught George's attention.

"Careful!" he yelped. "If that breaks, I don't know what we'll do with the Source. We don't have any silver-glass canisters left. Also, don't bang it down that hard. You've probably dented the table."

I glared at him.

"Oh, right. I didn't put it in your room."

I blinked twice as he turned his attention back to the stove. "You didn't?" I was still very ticked off.

"Why on Earth would I enter your room to keep it in there? What's the point?"

I paused; I hadn't thought of that.

"But then- then who did? It must have been kept there yesterday in the evening, because I saw it in the basement that afternoon. I was too sleepy at night to have noticed it."

"I don't know," he replied simply. "Lockwood was practicing with his rapier, and I had gone out to the library. What were you doing?"

"Sketching, right here at the dining table."

"Well, those sorts of things happen. It wasn't Lockwood, and it certainly wasn't me, so it had to be you. You must have brought it up with you by accident."

I struggled to consider this. I _couldn't_ have took it up with me.

Or maybe I was very sleepy and left it there without noticing.

I heard someone come down the steps- it was Lockwood.

"Good morning," he yawned.

"Well, look who's finally up," George retorted.

"Oh, eggs for breakfast? Excellent. They smell amazing." he said, sliding into a chair. I sat down too as George served us tea and gave us our plates. "Ms. Audley rang us up earlier and gave us directions to her house. It's only two streets away..." He began to converse with Lockwood about how unbelievable the case seemed- just as quickly, the topic changed to the deficiency of iron; I could barely listen. I only thought about the skull, and how it had moved. It didn't have legs- it couldn't walk up to the attic. George hadn't done it. Lockwood hadn't placed it there either. I wasn't convinced that I had left it accidentally, while half-asleep.

So who had?

* * *

 **A/N: A quickie note:**

 **I'm dying to know how you all are receiving this. It's got small surprises here and there but still I think it's slow. I'd really love it if you gave me a review, because I worked hard on chapter 2 and I didn't get any comments on it, so I'm hoping this gets good response. Thanks!**

 **-Artemis**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated within a week as I said I would. There are two reasons behind the delay:**

 **1\. School's started, and even though I'm only onto my second week my schedule is jam-packed with work.**

 **2\. This fic is BARELY getting response. I take at least two hours to write each chapter, and I never get any reviews. You have no idea how hugely disappointing it feels. I will thank you, though, for 300 views.**

 **I also hope you read the A/Ns, otherwise I'm typing this stupidly for no reason.**

* * *

4

I strolled down the street, my head held up high, basking in the warm sunshine. To me, the weather was perfect that day; I wanted to walk around and enjoy, instead of staying cooped up in my room. We needed a break, especially after all those continuous cases, the skull, and for me, my nightmares- so the light breeze, strings of sunlight and the smell of freshly cut grass from everyone's lawns gave me immense pleasure.

To his dismay, George had discovered that we'd run out of doughnuts and Swiss rolls- I'd gladly volunteered to step out and buy them. I walked over to Sharif's store- it was the only place George would accept doughnuts from- and bought almost a dozen doughnuts, which I thought would be quite enough. Holding a bag full, I then continued on my way to buy the rolls from the bakery nearby.

I pushed open the door and entered, the scent of freshly baked goods filling my nostrils. I stepped further inside and began to pick up a few Swiss rolls. When I was done, I billed them and left the store. I was almost reluctant to go back to Portland Row, since it filled me with unpleasant memories of my nightmares, and what had happened six days ago.

My light smile faded as I remembered the incident.

 _A harsh wind blowing across the landing._

 _The door swinging open with an eerie creak._

 _A dim outline of iron charms hanging from the ceiling._

 _A hunched, broken figure of-_

I was so distracted by my thoughts that I bumped into someone very familiar.

"Oh, Ms. Audley!" I said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

" _Sybil,_ dear. Well, that's quite alright. The case is still on for tonight, isn't it?" she said, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Maybe it's due to the fact that your colleagues think me mad."

There was a pause.

"No, they don't-"

"There's no need to defend them. Usually everyone thinks that, but you don't, do you?" She grinned dreamily at me. "I'm going to give you a tip, Lucy. Don't ignore my advice. _Everything is connected._ Whatever's happening right now, whatever you're dealing with- it all has a link."

She began to walk away from me, before she added, "Oh, and you might want to seal that mask. It's a pretty strong Source, and I have a feeling it's going to emerge soon."

My brows creased as she strode away. I just stood there on the pavement, trying to register what happened, before I realized that I was blocking the path, and continued moving.

I returned to Portland Row, set down everything in the kitchen, and walked up and down the living room, thinking.

As I passed the dining table, I saw a new note written on the Thinking Cloth.

 _Lucy-_

 _Have gone out to the library to check the records for Ms. Dingbat's case. Lockwood's in the basement._

 _-G_

My lips twitched upwards slightly. Even though the note was rather rude, and I half-believed Ms. Audley, George's utter disbelief in her words was amusing.

I kept pacing, turning over what she'd said in my mind. The only sounds I could hear were the muffled clangs and thwacks coming from under the floor- Lockwood, probably ripping Floating Joe to shreds while practicing with his sword.

 _It's all connected,_ she had said.

I finally flopped down on the sofa and mulled over the case.

Three Changers, one Poltergeist, two Spectres. If we were right about her being mad, then this was no big deal. We'd just give the area a brief scan, locate the Source and seal it.

But if we were wrong...

The basement was stacked with canisters of Greek Fire, magnesium flares, and salt bombs. We had duffels weighed down with heavy-duty iron chains. We had enough iron filings to fill a small boat.

But that still may not be enough.

Lockwood and George certainly wouldn't take the trouble to carry all that stuff, even though Ms. Audley's house was only two streets away. What if we had only a little equipment, and found ourselves tangled up in a situation far more dangerous than we'd expected?

 _No,_ I thought. _We're right about this one. It's just a small issue._

But if we weren't?

I imagined the three of us huddled inside a small iron circle, while a Poltergeist knocked things off their shelves, and Spectres stood around us, glaring. The memory of the Red Room suddenly came into my vision, and I gripped the armrests of the couch as I envisioned the three Changers in Ms. Audley's house to be as horrific as that.

I felt a sudden need to tell Lockwood that we had to prepare for the case more. I bolted out of my seat and rushed to the door leading to the basement.

I wrenched it open and there was a swell in noise. I heard several thuds and sounds of fabric being ripped; I peeped in to see Lockwood, still practicing. I didn't know how long he'd been at it, but he was barely out of breath. He looked up and spotted me, and grinned.

"Lucy, you're back!" He threw his rapier aside and began walking up the steps. "George's gone out researching for our case. He'll be back in an hour or so."

I cleared my throat as he reached the last step, and we walked back inside the brightly lit room. "About that..." I began. "How prepared are we for this one?"

"For 'three Changers, one Poltergeist and two Spectres'? I don't think we have to overdo it. I think one duffel will be enough."

" _One?_ But what if she's right?"

He sighed as he sat down at the dining table. "She _can't_ be right. Nobody over the age of eighteen can see ghosts, Luce. And besides, she says she's lived with them for years, and they're beginning to attack her _now._ If that's not mental, I don't know what is."

I tried to look for _some_ reason that would make him change his mind. "And what if she's actually telling the truth? We'll be ghost-touched and dead before we know it," I said in a low voice.

He turned and looked at me. I held his gaze for what seemed like forever. Finally, he sighed. "Fine, we'll take three bags, and we'll arrange a few iron circles when we get there. Alright?"

I hesitated, but then agreed. At least now we weren't _so_ unprepared. "Fine."

He nodded, then gave me his 1000 megawatt smile. "Until then, I suppose we just have to wait for George. You know him- he'd _live_ in the library if he could."

George, as Lockwood had said, arrived an hour after both of us had spoken. He had several papers in his hand. His eyes were bright with liveliness. The library was his domain- he loved going there and unearthing facts about our case. I could make out his neat handwriting on all the sheets tucked under his arm, and I knew that at least his research would help us. What he was going to say could confirm my thoughts, or it could back up Lockwood's. The house could be haunted, or it couldn't be.

He gave us a smile, and I thought that maybe the case wasn't as bad as it looked, before I realized there was no joy in it.

"We need to think this over carefully," he said. "It's more serious than I thought."

We sat at the dining table, watching as George shuffled the papers together.

"It seems the house has been a popular haunting site," he said. "It's been there ever since the Problem started."

"It's _that_ old?" I asked.

"Yep," he said. "It seems that there have been hauntings there from the past three decades. Four people have owned the place since it was built- one of them being our client. The first one stayed for ten years, before he complained about 'strange disturbances' and left. The second one stayed for five before he moved to Russia. The third one also stayed for five years, and he got ghost-touched."

The whole house was silent.

"And Ms. Audley still moved in after that?" I asked.

"Apparently. It's been around ever since the very beginning! The rate of hauntings have been going up all these years. And get this-" he leaned in close, "-The third owner was fidgety about the house from the start. He called in an agency to investigate just two weeks before he died. And you know what happened?"

"Obviously not, so tell us," I said.

George pushed up his glasses in irritation. After Joplin had knocked them out, he'd replaced them- and not just the lenses. These were even larger and rounder, and had brown frames, so he looked more owl-like than ever. "Fine! After they'd spent a night in there, the agent who had the ability to Touch and Listen clammed up like an oyster. He even quit his job. The remaining two seemed pretty shaken up, and their supervisor became so jumpy that he basically tagged around his group of employees for the rest of his career."

I grimaced as I thought about my previous employer, Agent Jacobs.

"Well, that case must have been pretty serious, because neither the agents nor the supervisor ever talked about it- and even Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell visited that house and spent a night there, trying to locate a possible Source."

My jaw dropped. "Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell have been there?"

He nodded vigorously. "The thing is, they never _did_ find the Source- but Marissa said that it was an area of high psychic activity. She could trace many echoes on touching different objects. They encountered _lots_ of Visitors. It seems they barely escaped alive!"

I frowned. This would _not_ be good.

"So we have to stack up, I believe," Lockwood said. "Well, Luce, you were right. We need more equipment. Let's get to it!"

He bounded off to the basement once more.

I groaned as I stood up. That was _one_ quality of Lockwood's that I disliked. He hated being wrong- he expected everything to go his way. I supposed that after we finished packing for that night, he'd rip Floating Joe and Lady Esmeralda to smithereens with his sword, trying to dispel his frustration by rapier-play.

George and I walked down the steps and began readying the duffels. Lockwood tried out the rapiers. I tested the chains, and packed in the filings and salt bombs, while George readied the belts. We made sure everything was in place for that night, before lugging the bags up the stairs and leaving them in the living room.

When we were finally done, I walked up to the attic and sat down on my rickety bed. I pulled out a sketchbook and began to draw, in an effort to vent my uneasiness.

There were so many things that could go wrong tonight.

For one, the site wasn't very well known, and yet the hauntings weren't exactly mild. Even with George's top-notch research, we still had no idea of what we were rushing into. I didn't know who spoke the truth- Lockwood about this case's battiness, or Ms. Audley, about how serious it was.

And then there was the fact that there were _three_ Changers, one _Poltergeist_ and _two_ Spectres. Three Visitors would've been bad enough, but five? It seemed almost impossible. Why would Ms. Audley give us, such a small agency, such a serious case? Was she trying to get us killed? Was she trying to help us? Or maybe she was, as Lockwood had said, a crazy woman.

My nightmares had to be taken into consideration too. I had realized that they weren't just bad dreams. They were _alerting_ me. But what did I need to look out for? It wasn't a coincidence. The disturbances in the house had been triggered the same day my nightmares started. Something had set the Visitors off, and that something was now warning _me._

I eventually flung my sketchbook aside. It was no use. I was just making myself even more confused.

And then Sybil Audley's words came back to me.

 _Everything is connected. Whatever's happening right now, whatever you're dealing with- it all has a link._

What had a link?

My nightmares.

The case.

And- maybe- the forbidden room.

The one Lockwood had showed us six days ago.

 _A harsh wind blowing across the landing._

 _The door swinging open with an eerie creak._

 _A dim outline of iron charms hanging from the ceiling._

 _A hunched, broken figure of a person, surrounded by chains._

" _Your parents?" I asked, slightly dizzy._

" _Close," Anthony Lockwood said. "My sister."_

I squeezed my eyes shut as I replayed everything that happened that day.

 _Lockwood had stepped into the room first, and had cocked his head, as if inclining us to come in. George and I had entered, numb with shock. The room reeked of damp wood, with a slight hint of blood. We all stood close enough to the iron circle to see what was trapped within, but at the same time, stood close enough to the door so that we could make a quick exit if needed._

" _What happened?" I whispered, horror evident in my voice._

 _He had taken a deep breath and narrated everything that he'd gone through- everything._

I snapped out of my trance-like state as I heard the doorbell ring. I walked down the staircase in my slightly burnt boots, rumpled coat and torn leggings. We hadn't been expecting a client, so all of us looked battered and rather disgruntled. I caught sight of the front door as I descended the steps. Nobody had come to greet our guest- I didn't think any of us were in the mood for welcoming anybody, anyway. I gave a sigh as I reached the foot of the staircase and began to head for the door.

As I reached my hand out to the knob, I heard a whisper, as smooth as spider silk, in my ears. I was the only one who could perceive it.

" _I wonder what you'll think when you see this,"_ the voice said. I thought its tone sounded rather gleeful.

I spun around to find the skull on the table, grinning at me with an eerie green glow. The cloth which usually covered it had fallen onto the floor. I quickly retrieved it and dropped it back on, shutting off the light at once. Lockwood and George emerged from their rooms, wondering why nobody had gotten the door yet. They came down the stairs just as the bell rang again.

I turned back to the door, twisted the knob and it swung open.

My eyes bulged in shock.

Nobody moved. Not me, not Lockwood, not George, not the visitor standing on the porch. At that moment, I was aware only of the individual in front of me.

Because that person was one of the last people on Earth I ever thought I'd see again.

"Hi, Lucy," my older sister Mary said, with a weak smile on her face.

* * *

 **A/N: THE FIRST CLIFFHANGER OF THE STORY!**

 **I'll update next week. Until then I'll leave the story in the hands of your imagination... What is Lucy going to say to Mary, and vice versa? Oh, I love the satisfaction of writing cliffhangers. But I don't like reading them. Especially the one at the end of the Whispering Skull, ugh.**

 **Anyway, give me a PM or a review- I'm seriously** _ **begging**_ **you guys now. This lack of response is going to make me stop posting such lengthy chapters all the time.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-Artemis**


	5. Blackouts and Visions- Chapter 5

**A/N: Woohoo, we're on Part 2!**

 **Hold on to your horses. If you think this chapter was interesting, the next one's going to be a bomb. You haven't seen anything yet!**

 **Part 2 in this fic is called 'Blackouts'. I'll let you guess what that means, but it surely isn't good.**

 **Now read!**

* * *

Blackouts

5

The first thing that came to my head when I saw my sister, who I'd forgotten quite some time back, wasn't spite, irritation or worry.

I could only hear Sybil Audley's words- they had popped into my head at once.

 _Everything is connected._

 _Whatever's happening right now, whatever you're dealing with- it all has a link._

And so the only emotion I felt when I looked at her was a sort of grudging fear. I just thought, _No. This can't be happening. Everything is_ so _mixed up!_

And _then,_ of course, that dissolved and I went into a fit of anger as I always do.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" I snapped.

Mary's eyes glittered, but she said nothing except, "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course I mind!" I nearly yelled. I could hear Lockwood's and George's frantic footsteps towards me. "Why on Earth are you here?"

"Lucy!" Lockwood was suddenly by my side, trying to calm me down. "Who's this?" He gave Mary his 1000 Megawatt grin.

Even though she was older to me by only a year, she was still a good four inches taller. I glowered at her resentfully, my arms folded, and she glared right back.

The staring competition seemed to have no end, so I cleared my throat and stepped back. "Lockwood, George, this is my _sister-"_ I hurried to get the last word out, _"-Mary."_

Lockwood held out his hand, that stupid smile still plastered on his face. "Hello, I'm Anthony Lockwood, and this is George Cubbins. Nice to meet you!"

Mary lost the frown, simpering. "Likewise." They shook.

To me, Lockwood's polite behavior towards her was only _just_ tolerable. But then he stepped aside to let her in, and I nearly lost it.

My sister beamed at him, sauntering inside, not taking her eyes off him. She completely ignored George, who made an indignant noise as she scanned our living room.

" _What are you doing?"_ I hissed at Lockwood.

"She surely has a reason for coming here," he whispered back. "Just give her a chance!"

"Oh, that's _rich,_ coming from you," I muttered angrily, staring at Mary, who had sat down airily on the couch, smoothing out her skirt.

"So, what brings you here, Ms. Carlyle?" Lockwood asked formally. It felt strange, especially since he'd called _me_ Miss Carlyle the first time we met.

"Call me Mary, please," Mary said, shooting me a look. "Well, actually, I came to talk to you. All three of you."

"Brilliant!" I said sarcastically. "What could you possibly want to say to us after _one year?"_

She rubbed her temples. "Why don't you want to _see_ me, Lucy?"

I threw my hands in the air. "Because I don't want to remember! I've moved on!"

" _Moved on!"_ her voice raised as she stood up. "I'm not here to catch up and _chat._ I'm here to _warn you!"_

I opened my mouth, then shut it. I looked away, calculating what she was trying to say.

Oh no. Oh, _no._

I covered my face with my hands. There was a tense silence in the room. I tried to calm down by breathing deeply in and out. After what seemed like forever, I looked up and stared her straight into the eyes.

"OK," I said. "What is it?"

Mary sat back down again. "Thank you for finally trying to listen!" her tone was irritated, but her eyes were soft, worried even. She sucked in a breath. "Alright. Lucy, there's someone after you."

My jaw dropped. George took a step ahead, wanting to hear better.

"What do you mean, someone's after her?" Lockwood asked, leaning forwards.

"Not just for her. Somebody's looking for you both as well. And they're out for blood. But Lucy- this person has targeted _you_ especially."

I groaned. "Why? What does this have to do with me?"

"It's quite possibly your Talent," Mary said gravely. "I found this house only because of the newspapers. In the afternoon everyday, I walk up to a store about three miles away and read the latest issue of the newspapers. And just six days ago, the headlines were about you. Your agency."

 _Six days ago._ Of course, that was when the Bickerstaff case had been solved. It would obviously have been a big issue then.

"Well, it was a huge thing in the whole community. Nobody would stop talking about it. Everyone would speak only about Lucy Carlyle, the girl who had left home and was now some top-notch agent in London."

On normal occasions I would've smiled at that statement, but not now, not when Mary spoke it with such spite. My heart suddenly panged with guilt. She, my other sisters, and my mother would obviously resent me now, after I'd left them and my worries back home. Back at my _previous_ home, that is.

I winced as she continued, her tone bland and indifferent. It was as though she didn't care about anything anymore. "That's how I came to know. I was in a cafe, a day after I'd seen the papers. There was another table right next to mine, and the people who sat at it were talking in low voices and hid their faces behind the menus. They were talking about _you."_

The sentence sent a shiver up my spine. "What did they say?"

"They didn't address each other by their names. I couldn't see their features. I could barely discern what they were saying, but I could hear them speaking about you, and they talked about how 'it would be done in seven days' time', and that 'their master had to kill you because you were dangerous'."

"Dangerous?" George piped in nervously. "What have we done to make us dangerous?"

"I don't know," Mary moaned. "I couldn't recognize their voices because they were so hushed, and as soon as they finished talking they walked away from the table in the opposite direction with their hats pulled low, and then they just disappeared among the crowd. I didn't know what to do."

"You're absolutely sure that what you heard was correct?" Lockwood asked, his eyes glittering.

"A hundred and ten percent," Mary said anxiously.

"What about the others?" I said, struggling to control my emotions.

"I didn't tell them. I said I'd be visiting just to congratulate you, and stay for a day or two. We didn't have enough money for all of us to go, so I was the only one who came. They'd have all come if they could. So when I came here, I did some more research- read some magazines, and some papers, and found your address. And here I am. _Just_ _me_."

I cringed again, and this time it was noticeable.

"So, where are you staying, Mary?" Lockwood said abruptly, disrupting the uptight environment.

"Oh, a motel near Trafalgar Square," she said, sighing. "I'm just staying for three nights. I'll be leaving two days from now."

We'd all been speaking in quiet voices, so there had been a considerable amount of silence. It jarred all of us greatly, then, when the phone blared unexpectedly. The shrill ringing noise made us all pause, before George, who was closest, picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

He seemed submissive; when he stopped talking and cut the line, he sank into a chair, thoroughly fed up.

"That was Ms. Audley," he grumbled. "She wants us over at her house now."

" _Now?"_ I asked, annoyed. "What's come up?"

"She has something important to say to the three of us," he replied.

Mary stood up. "Well, I suppose I have to leave, then." She nodded at George and smiled at Lockwood. "Thanks for having me."

She then turned to me. We stared at each other, not speaking, not moving.

Finally, she extended an arm. "I'll be back tomorrow," she said. "Till then, truce?"

I stared at her hand, slightly unwilling.

Then I realized that before all this, she _had_ been my favorite sister.

I finally raised my hand too and shook hers. I gave her a small, grudging smile. "Till then," I agreed.

And she swept down the pavement before turning right and striding down the street, her figure shrinking as she walked off into the distance.

"Well, she's certainly nicer than you," George said.

"At least when we met, I _acknowledged_ you," I retorted. "She didn't."

"Alright, we have to leave now," Lockwood said. He had been very silent throughout the whole reunion. "Let's get ready."

He left at once, whisking up the staircase without another word. His indifference unsettled me. I hadn't seen him like this even once, in the twelve months I had worked with him and George. Maybe it was the fact that he'd just met someone who was a part of my family, and it had been so long since he'd _had_ a family. A vague feeling of sadness filled the empty space in my chest.

I walked up to my room. I had something more important to dwell on.

That being all the _coincidences._

Maybe they would all be explained now.

Ms. Audley was a seer. Could she possibly have the answers to what was going on?

I tried not to get my hopes up as I changed into cleaner, more comfortable clothes. I was the first to finish getting ready; when I traipsed down to the living room, nobody was in sight. I sat down at the table and closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead with my thumbs. This was a bit too much to handle.

" _Lucy..."_

My eyes snapped open and I grabbed the cloth that concealed the Visitor. The green glow it emitted, that used to be eerie but was now just annoying, decorated the white tablecloth with its green highlights. The skull grinned at me through the silver-glass, as skulls do.

"What the hell do you want?" I snapped.

" _Oh, you don't want me to shut my trap_ now, _do you?"_ A chilling noise reached my ears which sounded very much like its laughter.

"How did you get here, anyway? The last I saw you, you were in the basement."

The plasm floating haplessly within the glass formed an almost face over the Source. It shot me an irritated look. _"Your friend Cubbins put me in the microwave again. Ahh, the pain!"_

I rubbed my hands, feeling cold all of a sudden. "What do you want to tell me? What have you been _wanting_ to tell me all these days?"

" _I've told you many times already. Death-"_

"-is coming. I know, I-"

" _Let me finish!"_ it snarled. Something about its tone made my heart judder. I realized that I'd never seen it angry before. Sure, it had always uttered sardonic advice from the sidelines, but it never lost its temper. If ghosts had tempers, that is.

" _Death is coming. Death's in life and life's in death. Or at least, it will be."_

I paused at its last statement. "What?"

" _Death is already in life, you fool. But life has to enter death, else the balance will be ruined."_

I stared. "But-"

The Other-Light began to fade. "No!" I said. "Don't-"

" _If you want to live, don't tell this to your associates."_

And it was gone. My ears popped. I heard footsteps and I realized that they belonged to Lockwood and George. I barely acknowledged their arrival as they reached the living room, arguing about something. I just kept thinking about the ghost's words. I felt queasy when pondering its last statement. Apparently, if I told Lockwood and George about it, I would die. It could be fibbing.

But I wasn't going to take a chance.

I was startled into reality when Lockwood spoke. "So, are we ready to go?" he asked.

I nodded and stood up. We each took a duffel and exited our home, locking the door as we went. We made our way down the street, turned a corner, and continued walking.

 _Death's already in life._

 _But life has to enter death, else the balance will be ruined._

 _Everything is connected._

What could all these connections possibly be?

I hadn't a clue.

But maybe I could now get help.

We halted at a rather run-down house. The roof, which would have been brick-red when first painted, was now a dull, faded brown. Paint peeled off the walls. The iron gate surrounding it was rusty and bent.

But it wasn't small. It was maybe double the size of Portland Row. I also had to admit that the creepers and trees growing all around it were rich green and made it look pretty, if you ignored the rest.

"15 Winston Street," said George, reading from a slip of paper in his hand. "We're at the right place."

We shuffled along to the front porch, and as Lockwood raised his hand to ring the bell, the door opened. Ms. Audley stood inside the house, smiling at us serenely.

"I knew you'd come," she said. "You may enter."

We walked inside, glancing around at the room's contents. Unlike the worn-out appearance from the exterior, the interior looked lovely. Soft rugs lined the floor. Pictures of cats and birds sat on polished mahogany desks, their pastel frames glimmering in the light. Windows here and there welcomed the sunlight, which streamed through in showers and made everything sparkle with life. It certainly looked very homely.

"So, where is the area of manifestation?" Lockwood hadn't bothered to survey the surroundings, unlike George and I. As Mr. Saunders had once said, he was 'a man of business'.

"Oh, it's on the first floor," said Ms. Audley. She led us up a carpeted staircase and down a hall. I noticed that the level looked more and more gloomy as we passed each room. There were no more carpets. The floor had several scratches and kinks in it. The walls were rough and bare, their colors boring and dirtied. We neared the designated room and I almost stopped walking.

Why?

Because the door and its frame were blood-red in color, with a dark blue knob. It was the only door that was brightly colored- the rest were all the same shade of brown.

"So," she said. She turned around, and we realized with a start that her face, which was usually pink, was now white and taut with worry. "This is it."

* * *

 **A/N: Answering the previous comments, and then a quickie note:**

 **AnonymousAnon(Guest): And** _ **you're right!**_ **Nice guesswork. Thanks so much for leaving such a heartfelt review, it means so much. :)  
IMALIVE(Guest): Gosh I'm so glad to hear that! I'm so happy you took the time to review this chapter. It really lifted my spirits!**

 **Guest: Thanks so much! It's nice to hear that. :)**

 **Sugarlover0818(Guest): THANK YOU! Nobody usually says nice stuff to me like that. That's so sweet of you. ^-^**

* * *

 **Next chapter is when it all happens. Next chapter is... THE CASE! Part one.**

 **I actually write two chapters ahead and post once a week, so if I get Writer's Block I'll still have something to publish. And I'm telling you... Chapters 6 and 7 weren't easy to write.**

 **And please leave a PM/review. I work really hard on these chapters, even though school is a HUGE burden. Those four reviews which were left in the past week- thanks SO MUCH! They really fueled me on. :)**

 **-Artemis**


	6. Chapter 6 (Part 1)

**A/N: Okaaaaaay... Back after one week, and I'm...**

 **SO HAPPY! I didn't expect all this attention! I'm up onto 14 reviews now, which is supercool. To all the people who read and reviewed, even if you don't have fanfic accounts... Thank. You. So much.**

 **This is called 'Chapter 6 Part 1' because I actually wrote this chapter and the next one together. It's so long that I split it into two parts. Hope I cleared that up!**

 **Uhh, and just giving a heads-up- the next chapter is a total action scene, and this one is mainly a plot-definer. It's going to answer a few baffling questions. If you still didn't understand, you can say so in a review and I'll tidy it up, because really, I confused _myself_ with this storyline. XD**

 **P.S: Reviewssssss.**

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6 (Part 1)

My heart started thumping twice as fast when we passed through the doorway and into the room. It certainly _looked_ like it was haunted.

There was a single large window, fixed in the center of the wall. Its length was about my height. Its panes were broken. The wind from outside made the raggedy, stained curtains blow around it with a _whoosh,_ giving the room an even more spooky appearance. The floorboards were weak and damp, and looked like they could give way any moment. The most horrible sight of all, however, was the look of the wall ahead of me. The wallpaper was ripped and shreds lay on the floor. Five thin claw marks snaked their way from the middle of the wall all the way down to the floor. Splats of red covered the area surrounding the scratches, giving me the impression that a person had clawed at the paper with bloody fingers.

There was one wonky desk at the far end of the chamber, on which stood several items. I could see a small mahogany box, sealed with a small padlock; there were two halves of a locket which seemed to glow, like the only happy thing in this place. There were also assortments of photo frames, but all the pictures inside were dull, dark and clouded over with dust.

"This is the room where they manifest each night," she said gravely. Her voice was tight. "For ten years they've left me alone. I usually sleep downstairs, and they haven't trespassed. But ever since six days ago... They started to move."

"Move?" Lockwood asked.

"They used to reside here and here only. They never ventured out further. But now they've started shifting to different parts of the house... I never thought I'd need to use iron, but now I have to. Otherwise they'll come in _my_ room." She dropped her voice. "I can see them. They're here."

We whipped around, but not even Lockwood could catch sight of a Visitor.

"Oh, these ones start to appear at this time," she said. "But they're too weak to do anything. It's around 8 o' clock when they _really_ get fierce."

"8 pm?" I asked, bewildered. "But Ms. Audley, _no_ ghost can get that strong so early, except type Threes-"

I shut my mouth, stiffening. I waited for her to spring the question- _"And how do_ you _know type Threes can manifest so early?"_

But she said nothing. It was like she hadn't even heard. "Call me Sybil, dear." she said, but her voice wasn't light. "This house is filled with death. All this negativity, and fear, it just fuels them on. Think of it like coffee for Visitors. The more anger and worry and fright acts like caffeine for them."

I blinked. What she said had actually been a good thesis to the manifestation of ghosts.

"Alright, then, Sybil-" Lockwood began.

"That's Ms. Audley to you, young man," she said sharply.

I would've laughed if the situation hadn't been so tense.

"Fine then, _Ms. Audley,"_ he continued, exasperated. "Is that all?"

"I should think so," she replied. "This is the main area of haunting, but the Sources could be scattered anywhere. I think _that's_ where all six are." She pointed at the desk, which stood a few metres away from us.

"Er, may I ask why you called us here so early?" I asked, trying my best to be polite.

She ushered us out of the room, and the knot of anxiety in my stomach eased as I passed out the doorway. "Well, I actually made you come here to warn you." She spoke as we walked down the staircase, and I nearly tripped when I heard what she said.

"Warn us for what?" I asked.

"Your sister Mary came to you just about an hour ago, am I correct?" she stated, rather than questioned.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

We reached the living room and she turned around to face me. She looked directly into my eyes. "I am a seer, Lucy Carlyle. I _know everything,_ whether I want to or not."

She gestured to the seats, indicating us to sit down. We sat together on her couch, which was so big that it seemed to envelop us completely. She was seated quietly on a chair opposite us.

"Give me your hand, Mr. Cubbins," she said slowly.

Lockwood suppressed a snort; I looked at her, confused; George let out a squeak. "What?"

She sighed in exasperation and grabbed his hand. He seemed to jerk backwards, but then his eyebrows furrowed and he relaxed, frowning, as she stared at him.

"You are thirsty for knowledge," she said in a slightly robotic voice. "You want to uncover all secrets about the Other Place. And you will, but it will not come from experimenting on Visitors." She let go of his palm and he recoiled, his eyes as round as dishes. If we were alone, I knew what he'd have said- _"She knows about the skull! Is she a stalker?"_

She glanced at Lockwood next, who stretched out his arm, looking uncomfortable and slightly reluctant. She winced as her fingers touched his. "You have endured so much pain in your life," her tone was almost grieving. "You want to avenge your family."

He struggled to extract his hand from her grip. "How did you-"

"And you will. Soon, all of this will be over, and maybe your mind will finally gain peace. Maybe your thoughts will stop being so conflicted. But for that, you need to bear more loss."

He finally reeled back, and she let go. His breathing was heavy, and I felt extremely unwilling as she reached over to me. Her wrist came in contact with mine, and a jolt of electricity ran up my arm. She looked up sharply.

 _Ghost-touched._

Wait. Where did that thought come from?

 _You were ghost touched, weren't you?_

Was she speaking in my head?

 _What- are- how are you talking to me like this?_ I thought.

Apparently, my voice reached her. _I just can,_ she replied. _Were you ghost-touched?_

I felt a tweak of irritation, but answered anyway. _Yes. Can you speak to Lockwood and George like this?_

 _No._

 _Why can't you?_

A pause. _It is hard to describe... But I can tell you this- your nightmares are not nightmares, Lucy._

 _Well, that's a shocker._ I suppose people can be sarcastic even while thinking. _Then what are they?_ I asked.

 _They are one of the signs of being possessed._

I struggled to sit up- the couch was nearly suffocating me. _Possessed by whom?_ Realization dawned on me. _By a ghost?_ I thought.

 _Yes,_ she replied. _This is just the beginning. I cannot explain this to you properly, but I will, once the case is done._

I felt her retreating; Lockwood and George stared at us, confused.

"You will experience the most pain," she said, not meeting my eyes. "You will also experience loss. But ultimately, your actions will help your friends, and in the end, everything will work out in your favor."

She let go of my hand. "Now, I must be going. It is getting late, and I do not want to face those ghosts again. I will be staying at my sister's house; she is just around the corner."

With that, she picked up a bag near the door, and began to walk out. I stood there, transfixed in horror; then I snapped into motion and ran after her.

"I say!" I heard George said incredulously as I dashed out of the door.

"Ms. Audley!" I called.

She didn't respond.

"Oh, fine!" I grumbled. _"Sybil!"_

She turned around, a slight smirk on her face.

I jogged towards her. "What do you mean, I'm being possessed?"

"Yes, Lucy. You are under a ghost's influence."

I stared at her, not so much worried as confused. "I don't get it. I'm not a ghost, I'm a human-"

She hesitated, then spoke. "You may not understand this. But when your friend Lockwood showed you his sister, you got acquainted with three ghosts in your house."

I didn't bother to ask how she knew about his sister; she was a seer. "Three ghosts?"

"Yes. You were living with his sister's ghost, that skull, and the mask."

"The mask?"

"All three are Sources!" she was getting agitated now. "When you interact with too many ghosts, they begin to possess you. Do you know how Marissa Fittes died?"

"Yes," I replied. "Old age. Nothing special-"

"Wrong. She was ghost-touched."

I tried to pick my jaw up from the ground but failed brilliantly.

"She was possessed too. She talked with too many Type Threes. Their voices mixed in her head, and soon Visitors from the Other Place came to know that she was a link to this world. So they possessed her, and they tried to make her do terrible things. But she finally gained control of herself, and the ghost trying to possess her escaped her body. It came at her and ghost-touched her. The reason you weren't ghost-touched by that Raw-Bones, Lucy, was because a ghost is _possessing you._ Visitors can't harm each other. That is why I can talk to you in your head."

"Because it's possessing me?"

"Because _both_ of us are possessed."

She looked over my shoulder and spoke to me one last time, hurriedly. "One last thing, Lucy. _Trust the Type Three."_

And she walked away.

I turned and saw Lockwood and George, standing on the porch, eyes filled with disbelief.

"What was that about?" asked George.

"I asked her what she meant about all that rubbish she said after touching our hands," the lie rolled off my tongue easily. I didn't want to tell them what I'd just heard. "She didn't have an explanation for it- or, at least, I didn't understand."

George shrugged and walked inside, but Lockwood remained suspicious.

"Lucy," he said in a low voice, "If she's telling you something important, you've to tell us as well. There are no secrets between the three of us."

I can't explain what happened properly; the only words I can use to describe it was madness. My vision turned red- literally. It was like plastic film the color of blood had been placed in front of my eyes- everything was the same shade of crimson. I looked at Lockwood, and a burst of sudden, violent rage rose up inside me.

"Who are you to say that?" I snapped.  
Lockwood was taken aback. His eyes were filled with hurt- and that's probably what made me snap into normality. I put my face in my hands.

"Sorry, Lockwood. I'm so-" One word wasn't enough to put things right. "I'm just so tired, and I'm not myself. I really didn't mean it."

"I can see that," he said quietly. He was still injured by my harsh words. Before I could respond, he walked back inside.

I leaned against the wall, fighting the wave of hopelessness that threatened to engulf me.

What was happening to me?

The sky was turning a darker blue now, and the clouds were slowly disappearing. It was time to get ready.

"She said the ghosts roam around the house freely," said Lockwood. I noticed that he still avoided looking at me. "So I suppose we should set up iron circles in different places. One here, in the living room, one on the first floor near the staircase, and one in the room with the manifestation, of course."

I nodded. That made sense.

Our main base would be in the haunted room, so most of our supplies would be there. We laid down chains in a circle on the carpet, and clasped its ends together with a lock. We scattered iron around the ring. We did the same for the area near the staircase, and inside the room. Two of our bags were in the main chamber, and one was next to the circle at the top of the stairs. I finally put the kettle on the stove in the kitchen for tea, and we were ready to go.

We began to walk around the house, trying note down eerie-looking items that could possibly be Sources. I was distracted the whole while; Sybil's words had shaken me. Lockwood suddenly stopped and I nearly bumped into him.

"There aren't any mysterious things here; _none_ of these look like Sources. It would take us a whole _day_ to get through this junk!" He said, shaking his head in frustration.

I heard the kettle whistle shrilly, and we all walked back to the kitchen, where I poured us cups of tea. I checked my watch.

"It's 7:30," I said, sipping from my cup. "Instead of hunting around for the Sources, I could Touch some of the things here to see if there are any echoes attached to them."

Lockwood turned his head sharply, looking into my eyes for the first time since the mishap. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because we know you feel them strongly. And if this house is so haunted, who knows what you'll experience?"

His uncertain tone made me hesitate. "I'll be fine, Lockwood. It's not even late yet, so nothing can go wrong." I drank the remaining tea and rinsed out my cup. "We could start now- Ms. Audley said the hauntings start at 8 pm."

"You mean, _Sybil,"_ George droned sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up."

I began in the living room. I ran my fingers across the walls, let them brush against all the photographs, paintings and several clocks, but I could feel nothing. There was no object that had anyechoes attached to them. I checked twice, just to be sure, but the second scan was just as fruitful as the first.

"Nothing here," I said.

There were more rooms; several along the hall along the first floor. I knew it would take ages for me to check everything, and it was already 7:50.

"That means the Sources are on the first floor," said George. "It can't be in _her_ room, else the ghosts would've manifested in there."

"Come on," said Lockwood, walking up the stairs. "We should get to the room now."

We walked up the staircase, Lockwood in the lead. We passed the second duffel and the iron circle, and continued walking down the corridor; it felt like the longest hallway in the world. I could feel it getting slightly colder with each step.

"The temperature's going down a bit," George said.

"That was fast," I murmured. It wasn't chilly enough to zip up my jacket, but I gave an involuntary shiver as we passed through the doorway and into the room.

As soon as we did, the door slammed shut.

* * *

 **A/N: Eh... I should stop the cliffhangers. Did you understand it? XD**

 **If you didn't, feel free to leave a PM/review, and I'll clear it up in the end of the next chapter. I'll say this- Lucy's being possessed by three ghosts. She can't be ghost-touched, because there's a Visitor in her head, and plasm can't kill plasm. Her nightmares are also related to this.**

 **Answering the reviews before I leave for another week:**

 **Dakalu23385: Thank you so much! I'm so happy you like my writing. :) Well actually, the symbol looks like a heart if you turn your head to the right. Oh well. Thank you!**

 **Ellievator: THANKS! Well yeah. Lockwood's really sassy but he knows when to be serious. xD I hope you enjoy the rest of this fic!**

 **AnonymousAnon: Well, that's the mystery... The skull can't really kill Lucy because it's in a silver-glass jar, but Visitors have their ways. Mwahaha!** **And oh my gosh! If you continue thinking so hard like this you're going to unravel the entire plot. Don't stop leaving the reviews though, they're so wonderful to read.** **I hope you continue reading till the end... Your comments are so nice. Thanks!**

 **Anonymous: Yes, you can call me Artemis, no problem. :)  
And thanks so much! I get really worried about my writing being off-character, so I'm doing as much as I can. ****And there are going to be more Mary chapters soon, so... Stay tuned for some sister-bonding haha!** **It's really thoughtful of you to have left such a well-thought out review. Thanks SO MUCH.**

 **arael205ar: Aw, thanks for reading! :) And yes, Artemis is a BOSS goddess :D**

 **Guest: Here's an update for you! *Posts* Thanks for reading!**

 **Till next week...**

 **(To the tune of "All the Single Ladies") IF YOU LIKED IT THEN YOU SHOULDA LEFT A REVIEW FOR IT**

 **-Artemis**


	7. Chapter 6 (Part 2)

**A/N: Okay, guys. Big, big question here! It could become a major part of the story, depending upon the response.**

 **Should I make Locklyle/Lucewood happen in this fiction... Or not?**

 **What would you prefer? I'm fine with it either way, but if I want you all to like this story, then I want it to go with your preferences. Just tell me as straight as you can!**

 **Another thing to say, though. The following update will be next Saturday only, which is nine days from now. Sorry I didn't keep up with the weekly update thing! I just have a lot of projects due next week, which will cram my schedule if I want to write more chapters for this fic as well. I would have updated this chapter this Saturday, too, but I didn't want you guys to wait for an action shot. :)**

 **Don't forget the reviews, even if they're tiny ones.**

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Chapter 6 (Part 2)

The three of us spun around, drawing our rapiers. I could feel my heart thump faster as we backed into the iron circle, silently observing the room.

Air whooshed in through the broken window panes and blew harshly across our faces.

Then the howling of the wind stopped suddenly, and everything came to a dead standstill. There was pin-drop silence throughout the whole house.

"See anything, Lockwood?" I felt the need to whisper.

"No ghosts, but there's this one disconcertingly bright death-glow right next to this circle. Quite unnerving, I must say."

"Is the door locked?" George asked.

"Can't tell from here; it's so dark. The only thing I can see other than you both is this annoying blob of white light next to my foot."

"You mean the death-glow?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Well, there's no ghost here yet, so it's fairly safe to go check the lock," I observed. I didn't wait for Lockwood to respond; I strode out of the circle and tried the doorknob. Instead of swinging all the way through, I couldn't twist it more than halfway.

"Locked from outside."

"Well, that's a shocker," muttered George.

"That's the work of the Poltergeist," said Lockwood stiffly. There was an urgent tone in his voice. "Get back into the circle, Luce!"

I obeyed without hesitation. We stood in the center of the room, protected by the iron, slowly turning our heads to scan the scene. "Ms. Audley must have come to know about this ghost from hearing doors slam and things being knocked down," I guessed.

"Don't you mean _Syb-"_ George started.

"Just _don't."_

We waited, the complete absence of noise slightly unsettling.

Then, behind me, I heard a slow _skrrrrttt,_ like nails being dragged across a blackboard.

I turned and peeked over Lockwood's shoulder to see what was going on.

The wooden box was being dragged over the desk, and was now teetering over its edge.

It fell.

The noise wasn't very loud, but the room had been dead silent, and the environment was so tense that I couldn't help but wince as it hit the floor with a dull _thud._

"Have you noticed it's become colder?" George asked in a low voice.

I didn't answer. I was too busy listening to a noise that was audible only to my ears; far off, but steadily drawing closer.

At the same time, the three of us heard a creak.

"What was that?" George asked.

"The Poltergeist," Lockwood breathed. "It's moving across the room."

As if verifying this thought, more creaks sounded, uniformly, as if someone was walking across the weak floorboards laid out ahead of us.

"I think the other ghosts are coming," I whispered.

This was confirmed as I felt a sudden pressure in my ears; ahead of me, a flickering white head rose from the ground, then a neck, torso and legs. A Spectre.

"Where are the rest of them?" George asked.

Right on time, two other Spectres materialized next to the central one.

"Shouldn't have asked," he mumbled.

Lockwood drew his rapier. "Luce, go try find a Source. I don't think it'll be hard tracing any echoes. George and I will fend these off."

I didn't argue with him; this was our best plan. I waited as both of them dashed out of the circle and lunged at the Visitors. I stepped out of the circle and crossed to the back of the room, where the wonky desk stood. I rummaged around in its drawers, but found nothing.

I turned my head to see George lose his rapier; he ducked down to the floor to retrieve it, and a ghost, sensing his panic and uneasiness, swiftly drew close. Lockwood was in no position to help him; he was single-handedly fending two Spectres off. I needed to find the Sources and seal them, and _fast._

However, I was dealing with my own problems.

The Poltergeist had suddenly become more violent and vehement. Different items blew around me in a hurricane of energy, making it almost impossible to reach out to the items in the drawers.

My fingers finally found a handle, and curled around it- I wrenched my hand backwards and stumbled back as the contents of the drawer spilled out. Foreign collector coins took flight before being snatched into the tornado around me. Other antiques- chalices, pendants, plastic charms- somehow evaded the whirlwind and danced on the floor, making tinkling noises as they bounced. There was one thing left, though, that was not affected by this strong gust- a small dagger, made completely out of gold, glinting eerily. It looked more like a showpiece than an actual weapon. When I picked it up, I noticed that it was cold- too cold, as though it had been left in the snow. My eyes darted across the room and I located our duffel bag, quite close to George. I sprinted to the other side of the hall, battling against the tempest, fear pulsing through my heart as I saw the Spectre draw maliciously close.

"George!" I yelled, picking up his rapier from the floor, just as he scrambled to his feet, swordless.

He turned in time to see his rapier flying towards him. He caught it by the hilt and thrust it in front of him just in time, stalling the vengeful Spectre just in front of him- a fraction of a second less, and he'd have been ghost-touched.

"Thanks, Lucy!" he yelled over the wind.

The Poltergeist was really cooking up a storm. Wind rushed into my face, making my eyes water. I had to squint as I knelt down to retrieve the duffel bag just as it drew close to being sucked into the cyclone.

I ran back to the far end of the chamber, spotting the knife skittering across the floor. I brought out an iron net just as the mahogany box, which had also been dragged into the tornado, connected with my head.

Pain exploded in my skull as I crashed to the floor, landing on top of the iron net. The box clattered next to me on the raw, exposed wood. Through bleary, tear-filled eyes I could make out the dagger, a few metres away, and determination coursed through my veins again. I got to my knees painfully and crawled over to it, and with one finalized sweep of my hands, brought the net down on it. At once, the windstorm ceased. My hair and coat stopped billowing around me. The pressure in my head decreased, but not completely. One out of six Sources had been sealed.

I craned my neck and was able to make out George and Lockwood, doing miraculously with the Visitors. Lockwood's stamina was certainly a plus here; but I didn't want to wait and see how long they'd hold out.

 _What could be the Sources?_

I looked over at the box, and my heart jumped. Of course!

I took a step towards it just as the pounding in my head magnified once more.

The Changers had arrived.

Green tendrils of ivy began pooling out of the cracks in the walls, and through seams in the loose floorboards. My shock made me stop in my tracks, delaying me by a vital two seconds. They ignored Lockwood and George, and instead came right for me. I lunged at the mahogany chest but was too late; one branch of the plant shot out and grabbed my left leg, causing my to jerk backwards and fall onto the floor with a thud. I swallowed the urge to scream. Why didn't my leg feel numb? Or why wasn't it blue?

This was a Changer. Just because it didn't trail plasm didn't mean it couldn't ghost-touch in its guise.

I felt bile rise in my throat as I recalled something Ms. Audley had said.

 _The reason you weren't ghost-touched by that Raw-Bones, Lucy, was because a ghost is possessing you. Visitors can't harm each other._

A wave of emotions crashed into me- shock, relief that I wasn't going to die, and horror and dismay at the fact that it was true.

I was being _possessed._

By a _Visitor._

And, like Marissa Fittes, I could possibly lose control of my mind.

These thoughts evaporated as another arm of ivy snagged my _right_ leg. I kicked and struggled, but to no avail. I tried clawing my way across the floor to the chest; it was useless. My fingernails scraped helplessly against the wood as I was dragged backwards. A third stem snaked towards my left hand and coiled around it tightly, and I knew I couldn't get to the box fast enough. Lockwood and George were finally tiring.

We'd all be doomed.

I hung my head- and out of the corner of my eye saw my rapier, glistening at my belt.

Of course. I was so stupid!

My right arm was free- I drew my sword and with a manic series of slashes, I cut the ivy into bits. The iron hissed and sparked against the Visitor's form. More tendrils came shooting right at me, but I deflected them easily, finally putting all those fancy rapier moves that Lockwood had taught me countless times to use. I darted towards the box and frantically tried to prise it open with shaky hands. The Changer was already reforming, pieces of withering leaves and stems inching closer to each other. I noticed a padlock in the center of the box- without thinking, I swung my rapier on to it. It nicked my wrist as it dove into the keyhole, but I didn't feel the pain or see the blood- and the lock cracked. I yanked it free and opened the chest.

Inside I found three bracelets with matching designs on them. One was red, one was blue, and one purple. I glanced upwards to spot the three Visitors engaging Lockwood and George. These were the Sources for the Spectres.

I grabbed another iron net from the duffel and quickly covered the bracelets, tying the ends of the net together for double the security. The effect was instant. The ghosts gave howls, accompanied with various movements that made them look like they were having seizures, before disappearing into thin air.

I spun around to find that the Changers had switched forms. Instead of slimy green ivy, they had now turned into solid apparitions of people.

I darted past them before they could spot me, and charged for the desk just a few feet ahead. I could hear the air sing behind me, which could only mean that Lockwood and George were fending them off with their rapiers, exhausted as they were. There was only one iron net left in the bag, which I quickly grabbed. I spotted the Sources instantly. They were the two halves of the locket- when I touched them, I found them to be cold. I could also detect echoes in them, but I did not concentrate on them- the last thing I needed now was to be lost in the past. Relieved that this was finally going to end, I bundled them up in the net and secured them with a sigh.

The pressure suddenly vanished, making my ears pop. The clang and hiss of iron against plasm ceased. I listened with my inner ear, but heard only silence.

I rotated on my heel to find Lockwood and George slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. I staggered forward and collapsed on the floor next to them.

"I've never been more preoccupied in my life," George groaned from my right.

"Great... Job... Luce..." Lockwood panted, punctuating every pause with a gasp. I glanced to my left. He looked really worn-out. His coat was burnt from plasm in many areas, and his neatly combed back hair was frazzled and all over his forehead.

"Thanks," I replied, equally out of breath. "Let's get out of here. The Sources are sealed fine."

"I'll vouch for that," George groaned. I stood up. We gathered the chains from the floor, picked up the duffel, and trudged towards the door.

I tried the handle- and to my surprise, it was unlocked.

"Poltergeist must've made a mistake," I said blandly, my words slurred with tiredness.

We walked outside onto the hallway, shedding our tension and fear as we moved ahead. I turned around to give the room one last look.

Its bright red door glared at us ominously, insidiously.

We walked down to the living room and switched on the light. We gladly sat down on the couches.

"That was a nightmare," George mumbled.

I winced.

"I don't know what's worse- that or the Red Room," I muttered.

"Well," Lockwood retorted, "The Red Room carried far more terror. And that Staircase was terrible. So comparatively, this one isn't too bad. The only thing I don't understand is how they became so powerful, and just at 8 o' clock."

I checked my watch. It read 8:30.

"Well," I said, "We're done for the moment, so..."

I suddenly felt extremely dizzy. My head spun like a top. If I had been standing up, I would've fallen. My vision suddenly darkened, and I could hear Lockwood's muffled exclamation. My head lolled and I fell backwards into neverending darkness.

And after so many questions, I gained a little bit of clarity.

In the darkness of my mind, memories resurfaced, and ghosts connected with my own thoughts.

Things were beginning to make sense, more or less.

I was seeing _visions._

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 **A/N: Mentally kicking myself because even though I haven't used a cliffhanger, I've come to a climax, and so I feel the chapter endings are too abrupt. :(**

 **I actually had to split this chapter into two parts. The original thing was a clubbed piece of this chapter and the previous one, totaling to 4,800 words. Woah...**

 **And in case you guys were wondering, and to clear this up: Neither the Sources nor the ghosts have vital importance to the storyline. In fact, they're going to be mentioned only in this chapter. Just saying, in case you got misled by all the detail. The actual** _ **house,**_ **however, is a very important detail which I'll be using again later on.**

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 **Answering the reviewss...**

 **Guest: Yayyyy! Glad I made you happy. Hope you enjoyed this one too!**

 **Lola: Hehe, thank you! I think I'm using cliffhangers too much though haha**

 **AnonymousAnon: That will be answered in the next chapter, when Lucy sees her visions. Your other questions, though, are going to remain unanswered till Part 3 (which according to my estimations is about 4 chapters away). Yesss, we've reached a climax now, the question-answerer, the great... thingy. I can understand your frustration with reading cliffhangers. I stopped liking them after about nine months ago *COUGH* Stroud *COUGH* And I'm so happy you like my plot! I have a tendency to overcomplicate things, but I'm glad that this storyline isn't too confusing to understand. :) Thank you for the review!**

 **ALSO, EVERYONE! The last two paragraphs probably gave away what's going to happen within the next 4 chapters. If you're confused, look at the name of Part 2. It's called Blackouts.**

 **Ooh, getting interesting, right? XD**

 **Until next week!**

 **-Artemis**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, once again! D:**

 **So yeah. I've decided- LOCKLYLE IS HAPPENING. YES!**

 **You might want to grab a tissue for this chapter- if you're a bit sensitive and get attacked by feels regularly, that is. If you're not, then good, because I made this a bit tragic and sorrowful.**

 **I have no regrets writing this chapter. But I'll be a little guilty if I made you cry.**

 **(Of course, only a** _ **little**_ **guilty. Mwahaha)**

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8

This time, the nightmare was different.

It did not start with me running for my life after hearing a screech behind me. Instead, it began in front of the wall I'd been pounding on.

Mt fingers scraped across its rough surface, trying to find a weak, hollow spot. There were none.

I spun around as a sinister breeze ran through the tunnel, and faced the regular Visitor.

It towered over me, blazing white with fury. Its fangs seemed longer than ever, and the talons on its long, bloody fingers reached towards me. Curly locks of dirty hair blew behind its- her- head. I tore my eyes away from her face and stared at the bullet wound, black blood pooling out in thick streams, dripping onto the floor below. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for her harsh, cruel whispers.

None came.

I opened my eyes again and looked at the ghost, and started as I realized a change in its appearance.

Instead of anger-filled, searching eyes that bore through my own, was a mask.

It was white, with pretty black patterns on its borders, curved, delicate and simple. As I stared, the ghost changed. The talons and fangs shrank back into pretty, manicured nails and perfect teeth. The hair transformed into glossy curls extending till her waist. I noticed now that she looked very pretty.

The Visitor smiled at me.

 _Well, this is new,_ I thought resentfully.

Her mouth did not move, but I could hear her words in my ears, clear as day.

" _Hello, Lucy."_

I was uncertain how to respond. "Er... Hi?" I decided to be as polite and calm as possible.

The grin grew broader; I could hear a tinkling laugh in my ears. _"You've done extremely well so far. You should be proud of yourself."_

I blinked, and I realized that this was a Type Three, communicating freely. Who she was, I'd no clue.

"Who are you?" I rasped.

" _I'm trying to possess you."_

I paused. "That's nice of you." It was becoming slightly difficult to _not_ panic.

The Visitor's smile faded and I heard her sigh. _"Lucy. There are three Type Threes in your house. I'm one of them. The other is the skull, and the last is in the Forbidden Room."_

My jaw dropped. "Lockwood's sister?"

" _Yes! The problem is this- she's trying to possess you as well. I'm trying to push her away, so you regain full control over yourself."_

"What! But why?"

" _I can't tell you that- if I do, it'll jeopardize the entire coming of the Finality,"_ The ghost's tone was now agitated, frantic.

"Wait! You're going too fast!" My head was spinning. "What is the Finality?"

" _It's the end."_

My eyes bulged, and I gave up all attempts at being nonchalant. "The end," I said, "of _what!"_

" _Of either side. You need to stay focused, and under control, otherwise you and the rest of humanity is doomed."_

"Let me get this straight- Sybil Audley and I can speak to each other because we're both possessed. You and Lockwood's sister are possessing me. But if you are, then how come I'm still in control of myself, and I'm not doing weird stuff?"

Her expression was sad, grieving almost. _"Currently, Lucy, you are."_

"What?"

" _You're under her influence right now... That's why I've come here to warn you. You have to be strong. Don't let her control you!"_

She turned, as though sensing something coming. _"I need to leave. Once again, Lucy, Sybil is right. Listen to her, and to Ernest."_

"Wait! Who's-"

She exploded into a thousand fragments of glass, and swept me away into a blinding flash of white light.

I expected to wake up again, but I didn't.

Instead, I found myself back at Portland Row.

Lockwood was behind me, George to my left. We were huddled around the iron circle, staring at its contents.

That was when I realized it was another vision. And not just _any_ vision...

Ohhh no. I didn't want to relive Lockwood's horrifying past and not be able to do anything about it.

I tried to move, but I couldn't stop staring at the crumpled form of Lockwood's sister, barred by the protection of the iron.

Then he began speaking, and I had to listen to his heartbreaking tale- again.

" _Till I was twelve, my family and I lived in this house together, in peace," he said quietly. "My mother and father were relic-collectors, always unearthing facts and dangerous Sources, preserving them, and trying to figure out some science behind them. They worked with DEPRAC; sometimes helped out Rotwell and Fittes. They were actually a lot like you, George. They were obsessed with the Other Place."_

 _He stepped out of the room and we followed. He quietly shut the door._

" _But then, just as my sister turned sixteen, something happened. My parents became detached from us, always pale and nervous. They kept glancing around the house as though we were being watched. They used to send us up to our rooms by eight o' clock, which wasn't very late at all, and through the thin walls I could hear them talking in muffled, anxious voices."_

 _We walked down the steps to the living room. I gripped the railing tightly; I was so off-balance I worried I might fall._

" _It escalated one night when they'd gone out together, for another case. They were nearly screaming; it was almost midnight. My sister and I woke up instantly, of course, and ran down the stairs. They were panicky and anxious. My mother told us to grab whatever I thought was valuable to me, and spare sets of clothing. She and my father then continued shoveling stuff off the shelves into a large bag. When my sister and I finally got ready, we ran down the stairs. I noticed that my mother and father were frantically trying to kick down the door, but something had barred it from the outside. Then, suddenly, flames started licking the walls, spreading through the room, all the wood and paper and plasm fueling it on."_

 _We reached the living room. Lockwood was in front of the door. He fingered it lightly, and I realized that there were several dents in it, as though someone had tried to kick it down._

" _My parents made us get into the basement- the whole house was on fire. The heat was scorching, and there was so much smoke. They helped us climb out the window in the corner of the basement. They pushed the bag of Sources through with us, and they made us vow that we'd finish their job- decipher ghosts, and cleansing Britain of them once and for all. We promised- and just as they were going to climb through too, a wooden beam, which was on fire, crashed to the floor on top of my mother. I tried to climb in again, but my sister held me back- she knew I'd die of smoke inhalation if I went in. My father tried to help lift the flaming rod, but he couldn't, and my sister dragged me away just as the ceiling above them collapsed, trapping them inside."_

 _Lockwood sat down on the couch. His head was lowered, and turned away from us, so we couldn't see his expression. He continued in a choked voice._

" _The whole house was on fire. One of the neighbours had seen this happened and called the fire brigade, and it came in no less than three minutes. They hosed down the entire house, and soon it was put out. They ushered us into an ambulance and drove us to the hospital, where we were treated for our minor injuries- small cuts, burns, bruises. We had to stay there overnight, even though we weren't really hurt physically. Emotionally, it was another thing. We were traumatized._

" _The next morning, we took a taxi back home, and there were still people working on it. They'd been replacing the burnt wood with new boards, and there were people repairing parts of the house everywhere. But when my sister asked for survivors..."_

 _He raised his head, and I nearly lost my cool when I saw that there were tears in his eyes._

" _...the coroner said there were none."_

 _We sat down next to him, and enveloped him in a hug, and soon he was crying his eyes out. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, and he held us tightly, as though we were his only lifeline. And George and I were crying too. Soon the whole living room was filled with sobs, and emotions, and the three of us were huddled together, clutching each other._

 _I'd always wanted to see Lockwood's weak spot. He was always so cool and charismatic, that I needed to know if he was vulnerable anywhere._

 _But I never imagined that he could be like this._

 _And I never wanted to see him like this again._

 _Once all the tears had gone, and the grief had subsided just enough, our leader, our amazingly brave and strong leader, had continued._

" _We had to stay with my sister's friend for a month. A month, so that the house would be rebuilt. A month for all the rubble to clear up. And when we got back, there were Fittes officials standing in front of the door. They told us that since our parents worked with them, and had so many Sources piled up from past cases that had been handed to Fittes in the beginning, that the house was theirs. They were going to turn it into a research lab of some sorts, and wanted to take back the artifacts my parents had given us- the same ones which my sister had guarded with her life. We didn't do that, of course. We argued with them, tried to sort it out with the police, but neither side backed down. DEPRAC couldn't do anything about it, and neither could Fittes, so finally a date for a case in court was set. Our parents had hired an attorney; a good one at that- so we argued fiercely, and never backed down. We were doing everything in our power to save our home. The case dragged on for days, and finally, when I was sifting through the relics once, I found a page on which was inscribed my parents' will. Everything had been left to us- nothing to our relatives. We presented it to the judge, and as a result, got the house back."_

 _I remembered, on my first week at Portland Row, George had told me something related to the topic._

" _What's even worse," he spat, "Is that the Fittes official wasn't just any Fittes official. It was Quill Kipps."_

 _George and I talked at once._

 _I was furious. "Kipps! No wonder you hate him. He's a foul, lying-"_

" _-dirty, wretched, bribing, thieving scumbag," George finished._

 _Lockwood's lips twitched upwards in the weak attempt of a smile, and I had a horrible feeling that there were worse things to come._

" _I thought that things would finally go our way, but I was wrong. My sister had revenge in her heart, and was hell-bent on bringing justice to our parents. A fire doesn't just start in a house like that, and our parents' behavior stretching over the week before had been proof enough. She was clever enough to understand that someone had barred us in from the outside, and set the house on fire. So she began to snoop. She pried into the Fittes Agency's documents- illegally, at that- and spent days skulking around DEPRAC. She asked too many questions to outsiders. And finally, our parents' murderers came to know about it. They began to worry about their identity, as murderers do when they're about to be found out. One day, we were outside on the street. My sister was out looking for clues- she told me to stay at the cafe and buy something for myself. Through the glass doors of the shop, I could see her talking to a stranger. He seemed uneasy; she kept attacking him or her with questions. That's when he pulled out a knife and stabbed her in the chest, just below her heart._

" _There was chaos. People screamed. I could see her fall, and I tried to get to the door, but the customers around me were quicker. They rushed out in big packs, fleeing, and I was pushed around by the crowd. By the time the sea of humanity had lessened, I had ran outside, but I was too late."_

 _He leaned back, closing his eyes, and a single tear made its way down his cheek._

" _I had seen my sister getting stabbed, in front of my very eyes."_

 _He paused for a moment, and I tried to get his tale to sink in, but I couldn't._

 _It was horrifying._

" _After that, my mind was set. I refurnished the house with some money from the bank. I placed back all the Sources and artifacts on the newly-installed shelves. I got my license for an agency, and I made a decision that took me every ounce of bravery to summon. I would follow my sister's path, and keep to my vow. Two years later, when I was fourteen, I met George. And a year after that..." he turned to me. "You, Lucy. All the while, my sister's been a Type Two, for she's never accomplished her goal. I plan to accomplish it for her. And even if the both of you try to persuade me, or change my mind, or try to convince me otherwise, I will avenge my parents and sister."_

 _The whole house was silent- dead silent._

 _George and I exchanged determined looks, seeming to read each other's minds._

" _We're in," George said._

 _Lockwood frowned. "What?"_

" _You want to honor the memories of your family," I said quietly. "And we're helping you do exactly that.. You're not in this battle alone."_

 _For a moment, he did nothing but stare at us in shock._

 _And then a smile slid onto his face, more radiant than any other. Not a classy smirk like his 1000-gigawatt grin, but a true one, one full of hope and determination._

 _All three of us embraced, and more tears were shed, but we were one, and we would help our colleague, no matter what._

" _Just one question, Lockwood," I said. "Your sister. What was her name?"_

 _He looked at me, and his eyes sparkled with pride in the light. The sun chose to peek out from a cloud and flare even brighter, streaming through our window and highlighting the side of his face with a warm glow._

" _She was Esperanza."_

* * *

 **A/N: A really long A/N for this chapter because I felt like it.**

 **So Esperanza's a Type Two. NOT! As Sybil said already, she's a Type Three, and is affecting Lucy's head.**

 **Hope you enjoyed, and maybe even cried- I honestly felt that this chapter was a bit of a disappointment, even though I was really hyped about writing Lockwood's backstory, but I'm really worried that it'll be received badly.**

 **The reason I named Lockwood's sister Esperanza is because the name is so beautiful, really, it's on my Top 10 List of Favorite Names. It means 'hope'; and I think that fits perfectly for her because she gave Lockwood inspiration and purpose to continue.**

 **Now for the reviews...**

* * *

 **ligerscool: Yasss it's happening :D Most probably somewhere in part 3/4 though. Until then, I suppose I'll have to stick with action and mystery. Good luck with your own fanfics!**

 **AnonymousAnon: Unfortunately, that's what's going to happen, hence the part name. Everything is linked, so there are bound to be some mishaps along the way. Oops. And yes, I really want Stroud to make Locklyle a real pairing, but I think it's going to be tricky doing that. That's mainly the reason I'm not top-notch when it comes to such scenes- I don't do those sudden 'they-looked-at-each-other-and-then-they-kissed' fanfictions. And it's surprising to know that you like PJO as well! :O I've written a fanfic for PJO as well-if you like angst, you can read it. The MoA cliffhanger wasn't that bad because at least the book didn't end with '"Close," Anthony Lockwood said. "My sister"'. It gradually tapered off. And I know, I'm sort of embarrassed that there are so many coincidences. Sorry 'bout that! It's a habit I'll have to shake off.**

 **Ellievator: Thank you! And yes, Locklyle will happen! (Though how I'll do it I've no clue)**

 **Guest: Sorry about that! :( Random cookie for you, here you go. (*.*) [That's a very bad Internet Cookie, sorry] Thanks for the review!**

 **Also, before I forget- I checked Fanfiction today and found out that this story has gotten 1,076 views. WHAT! THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

 **Stay tuned till next week because the following part is when Lucy's going to WAKE UP!**

 **-Artemis**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: POSTING A FEW HOURS EARLY BECAUSE MY FRIEND Celestialite REALLY WANTED TO READ! :D**

 **Hope you enjoy this; it's got a twist that's not very ghost-related.**

 **RANDOM LAST-MINUTE UPDATE:- Changed Part 1 to 'Nightmares' and Part 2 to 'Blackouts and Visions' because, well, there weren't any visions in Part 1, were there.**

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8

The scene suddenly froze in place- Lockwood's smile as radiant as the sun, George looking up at Lockwood with awe, me probably looking up at him with respect. Then suddenly, I heard several rather non-peaceful voices, and the warm red-orange-yellow-brown colors of the vision began fading into black, and then a familiar voice screamed in my ears-

" _WAKE UP!"_

I realized I was staring into the inner walls of my eyelids, which explained the loss of colors. My eyes snapped open and I was greeted with a close-up view of Lockwood's concerned face. His hands were on my shoulders, like he'd been shaking me. _Again._

"What happened?" I asked, rubbing my head.

He sat back with a sigh. I looked around- wait, this wasn't Portland Row. These walls were painted cream and pink, and there were too many fluffy chairs and pictures of cats for it to be our house-

Oh, wait. We were still at Sybil Audley's.

Lockwood groaned. I turned to look at George, and was surprised to see that his was face lined with anxiety.

"You were talking to us, and all of a sudden you blanked out," he said. "You were speaking, and then you just fainted on the couch. At first I thought you just passed out from exhaustion, but..." he trailed off.

I waited for him to continue.

Lockwood rubbed his eyes. "You stopped breathing." His tone was flat. I noticed that he was trying to keep concern out of his voice, but was failing. _Then_ a wave of guilt crashed into me as I realized that he still might be upset about my lashing out at him a few hours ago.

My jaw dropped. _"What?"_

"We noticed that you weren't inhaling or anything, and we had to keep pressing down on your chest, and Lockwood was shaking you like he was insane," George continued. "You weren't breathing for at least sixty seconds. You really scared us."

"Do you have any possible explanation for this?" asked Lockwood.

 _Tell him about you being possessed,_ one side of my brain reasoned.

I was about to open my mouth to speak when I remembered a soft whisper that I'd heard not more than four hours ago.

 _If you want to live, don't tell this to your associates._

For some reason, the Skull's words jarred me even more than the fact that I'd been dead for a whole minute.

"I'm- I'm sorry," I tried to appear as though I was flustered, and guilty. "I just- I didn't eat anything other than breakfast today, and I didn't sleep last night either-"

"You didn't _eat?"_ Lockwood's tone was filled with incredulity. "Lucy, what is wrong with you? Why didn't you sleep either?"

"I don't know. Over the past week I've been having a bad case of insomnia," I muttered. "And I didn't think food was really important. I wasn't hungry, and I was in a bad mood, so..."

George gave a snort. "Unbelievable!" he cried out. "What sort of person doesn't think food is important?"

At least my sense of humor was returning- I could feel a smile threatening to grace my features, but I didn't want to anger the two of them by implying that this was a joke.

"Sorry," I tried to appear apologetic. "I'll just... I'll eat something when we get home. Can we just catch a night cab back?"

Lockwood seemed to be torn in between agreeing, and pursuing the argument. Finally, he gave in. "Alright," he grumbled.

We began clearing up. We collected the chains and duffels from the staircase and the living room- which, when I thought about it later, were of no use to us at all- and headed out the front door, shutting it behind us.

George lumbered ahead. "I'll go flag down a taxi," he called to us. Lockwood and I stood on the porch while George wandered ahead down the road.

I checked my watch. There was barely any difference from when I'd last checked the time. My vision had seemed to drag on forever, when in reality, it had lasted only a minute. It was just 8:34. It wouldn't be too hard to catch a cab back home now.

The night was chilly. I zipped up my coat, staring at the round white moon hovering in the sky. It bathed my skin in milky light. I lost myself in its beauty, and was dragged back to real life when I came to an embarrassing realization that Lockwood was watching me.

I turned to him awkwardly, and he looked away at once.

"That case must have made you tired enough to... Pass out." he said, putting it as lightly as possible.

"Yeah," I replied. I still felt guilty that I'd shouted at him earlier. He seemed to be handling it very well.

"You fought the Changers brilliantly back there," he said. "George and I took on three ghosts together, while you battled three alone. Marvelous fencing, I must say."

I smiled. "Thanks. Your job wasn't easy, either. Those Visitors were really fierce."

"Quite."

There was a pause, and then he spoke again.

"Were you ghost-touched?" He asked suddenly.

The sudden question sent a jolt of fear through my body, sending my nerves tingling. What if he found out?

I tried to wave him off, putting on a confused and questioning expression. "If I was, Lockwood, I'd be blue and dead. Of course not."

"Really? Because I thought I saw..." he hesitated. "Nevermind. Well, brilliant job done, Luce. Top-notch work."

Of course, he must have saw the Changer grab my arm and legs, but he thought he was mistaken. I gave an internal sigh of relief.

I smiled proudly at his praise, then it slid off my face.

"Lockwood," I said, "I'm sorry about what I said before. I really didn't know what I was doing- I was just really crabby."

"That's fine, Lucy," he replied. "You saved our lives in there, and I suppose that's worth it. Besides, you said it because you were really tired and hungry. I don't blame you for it."

 _Or I said it because of something else._ There was still a smile on my face, but my insides churned with worry.

"Thanks, Lockwood." I squeezed his arm. But then my heart panged when I noticed that his face was still etched with sadness, and he didn't look very moved by my apology. It was as though he was trying to distance himself from me.

I heard a slight screeching of tires, and noted that a car had pulled over for us.

"Oh, there's the taxi," I said as cheerfully as possible. I picked up a duffel and walked towards it, Lockwood right behind me.

We were all exceptionally tired when we reached home. Lockwood unlocked the door and we walked inside. I slumped on the couch, and George instantly ran to the kitchen to get me some tea and doughnuts because I'd be 'starving'.

Lockwood went to drop the duffels in the basement. I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. I actually _was_ tired, but also curious. If I fell asleep now, would I have my regular nightmare, or would I have an alteration of it, with the strange pretty ghost in it? I hoped it would be the latter. I needed answers, and I needed them quick.

The doorbell sounded all of a sudden, pulling me back down to Earth. I could hear Lockwood's heavy steps up the staircase, and I stood up, walking towards the door.

He was by my side at once. "Honestly, visitors at this hour? Does nobody have anything better to-"

He was cut short when I twisted the knob and came face-to-face with our guest.

She wasn't my sister Mary, nor was she Sybil Audley, nor was she Flo Bones. I nearly fell backwards when I saw her at our front porch.

She was Penelope Fittes.

 _Well, these surprising visits from random people are becoming a constant factor,_ I thought resentfully.

"Miss Fittes!" Lockwood said(or rather, yelped) loudly, trying with all his might to regain his usual charm- but the black ectoplasm stains on his ripped, pummeled coat, his frazzled, electric-shocked hair, and grime-covered face aided his miserable failure in doing so.

I heard a series of sudden clang-bang-crashes emanating from the kitchen, which could only mean that George had heard Lockwood and had reacted badly.

Sure enough, he barreled into the living room a second later, still wearing a blotchy apron, looking no better than Lockwood. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times, as if trying to knock himself out of a stupor.

I felt nervous, wondering subconsciously if I looked as flustered as the two of them.

Penelope Fittes was neat, pretty and perfect. She wore a black trench coat embroidered with silver buttons, paired with a blood-red skirt, grey stockings and extremely high black heels. Her glossy black curls tumbled down her shoulders, ending just above her waist. I was reminded immediately that I was nowhere near as beautiful, and resorted to shuffling my feet awkwardly.

"Lockwood and Co.," she said in an angelic voice. There was a rather tight smile on her face. "I do hope I'm not bothering you."

The way she stated it was more of a flat order, an unfinished threat- _you're going to let me in without showing any outward displeasure, or else._

Well, when you're a very respected person with the most authority in the city, I suppose it's hard _not_ to do that.

"Of course not," Lockwood said smoothly, stepping aside to allow her entrance. She walked in daintily, eyeing our house with pursed lips. Something seemed to be bothering her.

She shut the door without asking, and her look instantly changed into one of worry.

"I need your help," she said, sounding panicked.

George finally recovered and discarded his apron. "What for, Miss Fittes?"

"Something-" she spoke hurriedly, "Something was stolen from our agency. I don't know when, I don't know how. But I _do_ know that if I don't get it back, someone is certainly going to die."

My weariness ebbed away, to be replaced with red-hot alertness. "What?" I asked. "Miss Fittes, what was stolen?"

She looked me in the eyes, horror evident in her expression. "A _skull,"_ she whispered.

The house grew so quite and morose that it might as well have been a graveyard. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see George trying not to sway on his feet. I quickly scanned the room to see if the ghost was in sight, but it was nowhere. I desperately hoped she wasn't speaking about the same skull we owned.

"A skull?" questioned Lockwood, expertly keeping nervousness out of his tone.

"Yes. It was a human skull, in a silver-glass jar. It was rotting, and brownish, and I'm not sure if it were taken a few days ago, or weeks, or even months. Whatever it is, I-" she began fidgeting with the hem of her coat. "I think it's a Type _Three,"_ she hissed.

Penelope Fittes must've been around twenty-five years old, give or take, but the way she spoke, the way she acted, the way she _looked,_ all young and healthy, made you wonder if she was a teen.

"Why do you think it's a Type Three?" I asked.

"That skull was an extremely dangerous Source," she said. "I remember, when a few agents walked by the room it was kept in, they'd feel nauseous and say that it whispered to them. They also thought they were being watched. We shook it off, saying it was a powerful Type Two, but I think they were telling the truth."

"What makes you say that?" George squeaked.

"Because..." she hesitated. "For the past six days, I've been having nightmares."

My head jerked upwards suddenly, and dread filled my chest.

"Every time, it's the same thing. That skull somehow breaks out of its silver-glass jar and kills me," she said. "It always mutters about revenge. Today night, the nightmare was especially horrible. It kept saying I was going to die soon. I knew it was the same skull my employees had talked about so many months ago, and I went to the gallery of Sources to finish it off once and for all..." her voice dropped. "...It was _gone._ "

And George, Lockwood and I knew how.

"I searched for it frantically all over the place, but I couldn't find it. I checked some files, and some papers stated that it had been scheduled for obliteration. But when I looked at the incineration reports said that it had _never been destroyed."_

Of course. Just as George had been fired, he'd nicked the Skull from a cart- and that cart had probably been on its way down to the furnaces.

"Someone has stolen it. I can't consult my employees, because it's going to be a great scandal on my part. A Type Three, stolen? Preposterous! The whole agency will be shut down. But you're a small agency. You're independent. Nobody will suspect what you're doing."

Of course she had an advantage in coming to us. Even if we reported her actions, nobody would believe us- and she had more than enough power to easily put us out of business. And then what?

"I have a feeling that these nightmares will come true. And if they do... a Visitor, an extremely powerful one, on the loose? London will never be safe again. So..." she stared hard at us. "What do you say?"

A billion things were running through my head- what would we do? If we declined, Penelope Fittes could go to extreme measures to keep us quiet. And if we accepted... We had the Skull with us. We couldn't frame someone for stealing it, nor could we just return it to the Fittes House. Both options were impossible. I could also not shake off the fact that she'd been having nightmares for the same amount of time I'd been having them.

Something was very, very off about this whole situation.

It could be something the ghost had told me in my vision.

 _The Finality._

What was the Finality? What was so important about it?

Who was Ernest?

Who was the _Visitor_ herself?

And then Lockwood spoke, words easily sliding off his tongue.

"Of course, Miss Fittes. We'll do it, and we won't breathe a word to anyone."

I walked up the stairs shakily. I'd told Lockwood and George that I'd be off to bed early(although they had forcefully made me eat something once Penelope Fittes had left). After many thanks, she'd gladly walked down the street, glancing behind her back every now and then, as though afraid a Visitor would spring upon her and ghost-touch her. We'd then discussed the situation a bit.

"Lockwood, how do we do this? It's impossible!" I exclaimed.

"'Impossible' meaning we can't just _solve_ this! We'd either have to return the Skull or frame someone, which we simply can't do!" George cried out.

"I don't know, either," Lockwood sighed. "We'd better figure this out in the morning. We're too tired to do something right now. Let's just relax, and get rest, and we'll talk about it again once the sun comes up."

We'd reluctantly agreed, and now I was quietly ascending the steps to my room.

Once I entered, I got ready to sleep, and thankfully crawled under the covers.

This had been a long, long week.

* * *

 **A/N: I HOPE YOU PICKED UP THOSE VERY, VERY SUBTLE HINTS OF LOCKLYLE I'VE BEEN DROPPING THROUGHOUT THE CHAPTERS NANANA**

 **I haven't ended this with a cliffhanger, for once. Whew!**

 **I hope you detected the fact that Lockwood's purposely trying to distance himself from Lucy(and George) and is trying not to get too close to them. Even though Locklyle is going to happen, I want to make it as realistic as possible- exactly like how Jonathan Stroud would write it. So yes!**

 **Reviews!**

* * *

 **AnonymousAnon: Thank you! Even though I wasn't extremely impressed with the way I wrote it(I am terrible at l** **egal stuff) it's nice of you to say that. There are lots of interesting bits coming up; but there aren't going to be any more answers in this chapter, other than a big one in Chapter 10. :) Thanks for reading the PJO fanfic!**

 **Ligerscool: Thanks, hope you enjoyed this one as well!**

 **Book Fanatic: Thanks! :D I'm glad you enjoyed! And yes, FANDOMS UNITE! XD**

 **Celestialite: Aw, thank youuu! Here's this update for you, I hope you enjoyed and continue reading!**

 **THE WEEKEND'S HERE AND I'M ECSTATIC. HAVE A GREAT DAY, ALL!**

 **-Artemis**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: I AM SO SORRY for the late update!**

 **My tests start tomorrow and I was studying so crazily and I have so much tension with my assignments that I completely forgot to update u g h**

 **Well, better late than never hehe**

 **This is where things happen quickly. Grab a soft toy and climb into a panic room, because the following incidents are NOT going to be pleasant.**

* * *

9

"No, no, Luce. Not that way. You're completely off-balance!"

My eyes widened. Lockwood was a few feet in front of me with an exasperated look on his face. I stared wildly around me. I was in the _basement._ There was a _rapier_ in my _hand,_ and I'd just been dueling Lockwood.

Wait, what?

But I'd just started the day!

"How did I get here?" I asked.

I heard George give a snort to my right. "You mean how did you lose that badly? Beats me. _I_ could've done better than that."

My ears turned red as Lockwood coolly retorted, "By all means, George. If you'd like to, we can try now."

George instantly looked down at a comic book he was reading, muttering a foul oath. "No thanks."

I'd have found the situation funny if I wasn't so confused.

How did I get here?

I'd just _WOKEN UP._

I had remembered going to bed, falling asleep quickly... And now I had gotten up in the basement, in a battle stance, engaged in rapier practice.

And the two of them were treating this quite normally.

"Why are we here, anyway? We don't need any practice," I asked, fighting to keep hysteria out of my voice.

Lockwood sat down. "Well, you looked so tired and groggy that we'd decided to talk about the whole Skull-issue later, remember?"

I recalled the last night's events. "So... I was awake the whole time? I wasn't sleeping here, in the basement?"

George looked up at me strangely. "What are you proposing, Luce? That you sleepwalked down here?"

 _I'm saying exactly that,_ I thought, but I didn't voice it.

"Yeah, just seeing how attentive you were, George. You're always so engrossed in your comics," I ad-libbed, recovering quickly.

"They're graphic novels, and they're fine pieces of literature!" he protested.

Lockwood grinned. "Of course they are, George. Luce, would you mind putting back the chains? I've got to go check the casebook."

"Alright," I said, walking over to a corner of the basement, where iron chains lay in haphazard positions, salt scattered around them. I bent down to pick them up and set them aside- but when my skin encountered the metal, white-hot pain shot through my fingers, making the metal hiss. I retracted my hand with a yelp.

"Ouch!" I said through gritted teeth, rubbing my palms together.

Lockwood and George were instantly by my side.

"What happened, Luce?" Lockwood asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I- I don't know-" I started. He took my hand, examining my fingers.

"They're _burnt,"_ he said, his brows furrowing in concern.

"But how?" asked George, bewildered. "I'll go get some ice!" He ran up the stairs noisily. I stared at Lockwood, confused, as he inspected my palm. His dark eyes glittered in anxiety. His head was bent, a lock of brown hair falling over his forehead. I looked at him in perplexity, wondering why he was so worried. It was just a _burn._ I'd been through worse. He looked up. "What were you doing, Lucy?"

"I went to put away the chains, but I burnt my hand," I said. "I don't know how!"

Lockwood looked at the iron links, still not letting go. "They're directly in the sun," he observed. "They've probably been like that for hours, and have heated up nicely."

I noticed that what he was saying was right. They indeed _were_ directly under the small window on the wall.

"All that hot salt could've blistered your skin, too," he muttered. He looked back down at my hand, and his eyes widened. "How did you get all these _cuts?"_

"Cuts? I haven't-" And then I gasped too. Long gashes ran down from my little finger till the beginning of my wrist- and more snaked their way along my fingers and palm, making it look like I'd been sticking my arms into rosebushes. I lifted my left hand and noticed that there were wounds on them as well.

"I must've cut myself yesterday, during the case," I said. "I haven't been near sharp objects otherwise!"

But I knew that that was untrue. I turned my left arm to view the big laceration across my skin- the one that I'd created when slicing open the padlock on the mahogany chest. But that was the _only_ time I'd nicked myself. So where had the other slits come from?

"These are bad," Lockwood murmured. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I didn't _know_ earlier." I felt guilty that I was keeping much bigger secrets from him.

"Whatever it is, you need to treat them." he dashed up the stairs, possibly to get some antiseptic creams. Before he exited, though, he turned around.

"Are you sure you're alright, Lucy?" he asked firmly.

"Yeah, completely. Why?"

He frowned, as though he didn't quite believe me, and left.

George appeared and trampled down the steps, holding a bag of ice in his hand. "So how are your- good God, Lucy. How many injuries will you _get?"_

We walked up the steps fifteen minutes later, after many protests from me, complaints from George, and firm instructions of safety from Lockwood, who was busy applying burn cream on my fingers.

"We've _got_ to discuss the issue with the Skull," I said. "What are we to do? Penelope won't let this go."

"We've to somehow make it an accident," Lockwood said. "Our only option is to return this to the Fittes House."

"But it's a _Type Three,"_ George moaned. "We can't give it away just like that. She wants to incinerate it!"

"We can use a forgery," I suggested. "She won't tell the difference. She's not a psychic."

"And if her nightmares don't stop, then?" Lockwood retorted.

"And besides, breaking into such a highly sophisticated, heavily protected facility is no walk in the park," George added.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

There was a pause- and then an idea came to me.

"Why not ask the Skull itself?" I said brightly. "It could give us some options."

Lockwood and George seemed to mull over this, before Lockwood answered, "Alright. It's our only chance. Let's consult it."

And then something happened that solved the whole issue- but confronted us with a _new_ problem.

I walked to the table, sure that the Skull would be there- it was when we'd left for the case- but I couldn't find it.

"It's not here," I said.

George went to the basement, but returned a minute later.

"Not there," he said.

We stared at each other for a long moment, as if deciding on an unspoken matter.

Then the three of us bolted in different directions.

I ran up the stairs and frantically upturned my room, trying desperately to find the foul thing. It wasn't there. Nor was it in the bathroom, or the closet, or under the bed, or hidden in some nook or cranny in the top floor. I dared to venture into the not-so-forbidden-anymore room, but after scanning it for a hurried second, noticed it was nowhere in sight. I nosily ran down to the living room, where Lockwood was tossing random objects around in a worried search to find it. After utterly disrupting the neat state of the hall and the kitchen, we decided that our search was fruitless. Our only hope was with George now, who was doing a thorough inspection of the basement.

We heard him walk up the steps slowly, and he emerged with a horror-struck look on his face.

"Nothing," he whispered.

I spun around to survey the whole room, gazing around its contents with every ounce of hope I had left, expecting it to pop up in some random place.

My eyes landed on the white mask on the shelf- the same one Sybil Audley'd warned us about.

It sparkled in the sunlight, almost seeming to give me a triumphant smile, saying, _I told you so, didn't I?_

We switched on the TV to check the news, and George ran through the newspaper. Someone might have turned the Skull in if they'd stolen it. Lockwood wanted to file a complaint, but we couldn't. Not after Penelope had given us a case. Then _we'd_ look like the thieves, and we could say goodbye to our agency, then.

Lockwood paced the living room, rubbing his temples. "This is mad," he said, frustrated. "Utterly mad. How could somebody have stolen it? Could they have done it when we'd gone to Ms. Audley's house?"

"They couldn't have," George said. "There were no signs of a break-in."

And then I came to a horrible realization that made my stomach recoil. Could _I_ have taken the Skull?

I had blacked out. I had no idea of what had happened this morning. When I was asleep, I could have hidden it in a location that nobody knew, not even myself.

The very thought made bile rise in my throat. I gulped, blinking quickly. I felt dizzy and nervous.

"Lucy, what's wrong? You're as white as a sheet." Lockwood had noticed yet again.

"What if somebody turned us in?" I whisper-yelled. I didn't say what was _really_ on my mind- _What if_ I _turned us in?_

George shook his head vigorously, as if trying to disprove this fact. "No. They couldn't have, they won't-"

But then he looked out the window and he paled as well. I followed his gaze, and what I saw through the glass panes made me want to dig a hole ten feet deep and hide in it.

Inspector Montague Barnes, along with the rest of his team from DEPRAC, were walking down the street.

To _our house._

"No," I said softly. "No, this can't be happening!"

But it was. Three swift knocks sounded against our door. I got to my feet shakily, and Lockwood reluctantly moved towards the door, each step filled with dread. He jerked it open, and sunlight spilled out onto our carpet.

Barnes looked at Lockwood in the eye distrustfully. "Mr. Lockwood," he began, "this morning, we received an anonymous tip about a rare artifact. He deposited said artifact in DEPRAC's station, with a note attached to it."

Alarm bells rang in my ears. I forced myself to listen.

"The person stated that he'd found a Type Three Visitor. Type Threes are so uncommon that they are believed to not exist, but a few of our Sensitives agree that there is definitely something peculiar about this ghost, after observing it for about fifteen minutes. Whispered to them, they said."

He glared at Lockwood, then turned his gaze on me, standing near the furnace, clutching the mantelpiece as if my life depended on it.

"One of his most interesting statements was that _you,_ Ms. Carlyle, was affiliated with it. In fact, he said it's been residing in this house for quite a long time, before he found it outside in the garbage."

My knees would've buckled if I hadn't been holding on to something. "The garbage? We- we didn't-"

"Of course, we wouldn't normally take this very seriously, but after all, you _are_ a very powerful Listener, according to my reports. Your Talent has helped solved two very important cases."

 _Don't say what I think you're going to say,_ I thought pleadingly.

"So, to confirm this anonymous tip, we are going to have to take you to the station with us," he said.

I could hear Lockwood's and George's exclamations, but I was loudest. "No!" I cried. But it was no use. Two of Barnes' men forcefully escorted me out of the house. I tried to resist; this had no effect on Barnes whatsoever. I could only turn my head to face Lockwood and George, who were running behind me, trying to reason with the officials and get me out of this mess.

George was arguing fiercely with Barnes, who was not listening. Lockwood was busy pushing his way through the crowd of employees, trying to get to me.

"Lockwood!" I shouted, trying to reach him through the multitude of voices. I felt myself being pushed into a car, and the door slammed shut. I poked my head through the window, and gave one last call for help.

" _Lockwood!"_

The car started and rolled down the road, taking me away from home. I shivered, not from the cold, but from dread and anticipation of what was going to happen to me.

What was I going to _do?_

* * *

 **A/N: Compared to my other chapters, that was shorter by about 500 words, but meh. I had planned this out from the start, but writing it was much harder than I thought. I feel like absolute rubbish right now.**

 **ligersrcool: Haha, not only George, the whole lot of them. xD And don't worry, hugs will come!**

 **Celestialite: NANANANA NEW CHAPTERS :D**

 **ThatBookWormOverThere: Thank you! Hope you're enjoying all this!**

 **AnonymousAnon: Thank you for the compliments! And I'm also happy that you understood that Lockwood doesn't want to get too close, but can't help it, and that you picked up on all my Locklyle hints! Good detection, Sherlock! xD Have a nice day, hope you enjoy the updates to come!**

 **More stuff will be revealed in the next update... And then we're heading on to Part 3! A hundred apologies for such a bad chapter. Then again, every author has their bad days.**

 **-Artemis**


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'M FEELING SO FRAZZLED BECAUSE I CAN FEEL WRITER'S BLOCK STARTING TO SEEP IN. Nununununu I'm doing as best as I can to continue writing.**

10

"You do know you directly disobeyed my orders."

"Yes."

"I had told you to get rid of that object."

"Yes."

"And yet you still kept it, and even _hid_ it from me."

I hesitated. "Yes."

Barnes slammed his fist on the table. "So you _knew_ it was a Type Three the whole time, and you never _told_ DEPRAC?"

I fought back tears, looking him in the eye for the first time during the interrogation. "No! We didn't know it was a Type Three, but something still compelled us to keep it. We had no clue-" I stopped short. Barnes was rubbing his temples, as though I was a child and he was exasperated by my whining.

"You do understand how bad this looks, don't you?" he asked, a dangerous undertone in his voice. "A small yet well-known agency, hiding a Type Three from the public? And what's worse, _you're_ involved with it, and you're the only person it wants to speak to!"

"You don't know that." My voice shook.

"Then _why_ isn't it speaking to any other of my employees? The only thing it does is give me an occasional gruesome face. I nearly spilled my coffee all over myself due to its horrendous expressions!"

"I don't know _why it does that!"_ I cried. "Why aren't you wondering about the anonymous tipper? He was digging through _our garbage!"_

"You leave the lid off your garbage can! He must've seen it yesterday night and instantly spotted that foul Visitor at the top of the rubbish, its plasm glowing green like Christmas lights!"

I put my face in my hands.

I'd been in the same interrogation room for at least ninety minutes. It had felt like days. The blank, stark-white walls made me feel like I was in an asylum. The one-way glass glinted sinisterly ahead, and I couldn't get rid of the unwelcome feeling that there was someone watching me from behind it. A single voice recorder sat on the table in front of me, capturing every single word, every cry, every argument. I'd not had a single break, not even to drink water or eat, and now my throat was parched and my stomach growling.

Someone had told me that Lockwood and George were in the headquarters as well, but they'd not been allowed inside the same room I was in. Who knew, they might even be behind the one-way glass. The very thought gave me comfort- even if they weren't really with me, they'd still be watching.

But I was still very worried.

What if nobody'd found the Skull at all?

What if _I_ had left the note and deposited the Skull at DEPRAC, setting up a perfect scene for the police?

I had been possessed by the ghost from the previous night till the current morning. I could've done _anything_ under the Visitor's influence in such a long period of time.

I rubbed my face, staring at my scuffed shoes. "How long are you going to keep me here? There's nothing I can't tell you which you already know."

"We just need evidence. We need to know if the ghost is really a Type Three or not. Things are so screwy that Penelope Fittes phoned in, and the press isn't letting us go!"

My pulse rate spiked. "What did you tell Ms. Fittes?" I asked hurriedly.

"Nothing much. Just that Lockwood and Co. has violated laws- disobeying a police officer, keeping dangerous ghosts contained in domestic areas, and hiding from the government!"

"You're really exaggerating," I mumbled. I couldn't ignore the wave of relief that washed over me- Penelope didn't know that we, in fact, had the Visitor in our possession all along.

That didn't mean it would get any easier, though. We _had_ broken laws- I was just glad that Barnes hadn't found-

"We also had a search warrant to inspect your house. A search warrant, headed by _Penelope Fittes_ herself. And guess what we found?" the inspector glared at me. "We retrieved _this."_

He slammed a book down onto the table, and I could feel the blood drain from my face.

 _The Confessions of Mary Dulac_ stared up at me innocently.

I internally cursed Lockwood for not getting rid of it, and despair crashed into me.

"This is from the Black Library of Marissa Fittes," he said in a low, growling voice. "That is _strictly off-limits_ to all ordinary civilians, agents and Fittes workers. Only Penelope Fittes is allowed entry. This is a very serious federal crime!"

I shut my eyes, knowing that all was lost. Lockwood & Co. would be shut down. We'd lose our jobs, and our house, and I'd be on the streets- that is, if we weren't imprisoned for the rest of our lives.

"Am I going to jail?" I whispered.

"That's very likely, Ms. Carlyle. But if you tell me exactly _how_ you got into this mess, you just might be pardoned."

The following lines I said would've given me a prize for being the best liar.

"On- on the night of the Fittes party, Penelope Fittes had gone into the library. I don't know how- but before she shut the door, a book fell off the shelf and was wedged in between the door and the frame. I picked it up to see what it was, and it turned out to be _'the Confessions'_. I thought it might help us with the Bickerstaff case- and I didn't really think about it too hard- so I took it with me. We didn't go in there, I swear!" I said anxiously.

I didn't say anything about my colleagues. I wasn't going to direct any of the blame to Lockwood and George- then _they'd_ be in danger, and they'd really have no excuse. Hopefully, Barnes would believe me, and the consequences wouldn't be so harsh.

It was a chance, but a very, very slim one.

He sighed. "Ms. Carlyle, even if you are telling the truth- which I'm sure you're not- you should have returned the book to Ms. Fittes. You're going to have to be tried in court, unless Miss Fittes grants you full pardon-"

"-And that is exactly what I'm going to do, Mr. Barnes."

I whipped around to see Penelope Fittes in the doorway, an expression of sheer fury on her face.

"This is not Ms. Carlyle's fault. It is most probably her associates' doing, and she is covering up for them. I grant them freedom- after all, nothing important was stolen from my library, and I have arranged a special... _contract_ with their agency. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to speak to her. Alone."

Montague Barnes' moustache twitched with irritation. "Of course, Ms. Fittes." he said as she sat in a chair opposite me. He walked out of the room, banging the door as he went. The noise reverberated around the room, filling the tense and worrisome silence between us. Neither of us said a word for a long time, and I was beginning to feel uneasy under her intense gaze.

Then she spoke.

"I'm granting you freedom, Ms. Carlyle, because you have a job to finish. You need to find the person who stole the Skull."

I blinked and looked up at her in surprise. "You don't think we took it?"

"Nobody told me anything about this incident- nobody needs to. The thief has struck. He most probably saw me visiting your house last night, and he would've planted the Visitor here to frame you. I think these nightmares are warning me. Someone is trying to go against me for some reason!"

"Why do you think that?" I asked.

"Because," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "There are too many conspiracies rising. The number of ghosts are doubling. Something is wrong with the iron supplies. Haven't you heard? It's a major crisis!"

"Yes," I recalled that it was something George'd been talking to Lockwood about.

"They're trying to overthrow me. This Skull is just the beginning. It's a Type Three, and this thief knows that. He wants to set it loose. And when _that_ happens, with all our defenses gone, it'll wreak havoc on the streets. We won't be able to contain it. All our agencies might fall. But I'm not going to allow that."

She leaned in closer. "You're going to find the criminal, Lucy Carlyle. Give me your word."

I swallowed. "I- I promise."

"Good." she stood up and gave me one last withering look. "And, Ms. Carlyle? Do not steal from my library again. I'm pardoning you now because you needed _'the Confessions'_ for the Bickerstaff case, and it wasn't a very important document; but I will not be so easy on your agency next time."

With that, she walked out of the room.

As soon as she did, Lockwood and George exploded in.

"Lucy!" Lockwood exclaimed. The two of them had made no effort to wash up- they still looked as ragged as they had when I'd seen them two hours ago.

I didn't speak. I knew that if I would, then I'd explode with all my mixed emotions and end up a blabbering mess. So instead, I weakly walked over and enveloped them in a bone-crushing hug. My eyes filled with tears of relief.

Lockwood and George were here.

So everything would be OK.

"We've been standing outside in the waiting room since forever," Lockwood said. "We had no idea of time. They didn't let us see you at all! But then Barnes came out, saying that Penelope Fittes was talking to you, so it was alright for us to come in as well."

"What did ask you?" asked George. "Lord, it must have been terrible! I can't imagine being thrown into a room like this," he eyed it distastefully.

"Barnes questioned me mostly about the Skull, and why we didn't chuck it out, and why we didn't tell anyone about it," I said, and my voice dropped to a whisper. "They found _The Confessions,_ Lockwood. They took it from our library."

He jerked upwards with a worried expression on his face, giving a wild curse. "What! I should've hidden it better. It was right in the library, in plain sight. What did he say?"

"He said we were going to be tried, but Penelope Fittes came in and gave us full pardon."

George gave a low whistle. "Full pardon? For us? When we stole a book from her library?"

"Yeah," I said. "She's desperate. She really wants us to find that thief."

"We'd better do it before she changes her mind, then," Lockwood said.

"What?" I asked. "But _we_ were the ones who stole the Skull!"

"But we weren't the ones who handed it in to DEPRAC," George pointed out.

My stomach twisted into a knot, making me all the more conscious of an accusing voice in my head: _I did it! I did it!_

"Exactly," Lockwood said. "I think Ms. Fittes is right. Someone is truly after her. And we're going to find out whom, or else _our_ agency's in shambles."

I nodded, feeling very sick. I desperately wanted to end the conversation.

My wish was fulfilled when Barnes walked back into the room.

"I need to talk to Ms. Carlyle," he said gruffly, thoroughly disgruntled by the fact we weren't going to jail.

"You've talked to her long enough- whatever you want to say to her, you can say in front of us as well. There's no big secret," Lockwood said, and I silently thanked him.

Barnes grimaced, giving him a dirty look, but spoke to the three of us nonetheless. "I've no more questions for you today," he said, "but we need to try out one experiment."

My heart jumped. "What?"

He looked at me. "We want to record a conversation between you and the Skull."

* * *

The DEPRAC headquarters is, in many ways, a fearsome place for fugitives. With its plain, whitewashed walls, and its clear marble floor, it makes you wonder if the place is really a police station or a mental asylum. There are about thirty different rooms, many of which are needed for interrogation, and the rest are offices or laboratories. I was lead to a room, accompanied by Lockwood, George and three other employees. This one was different- instead of stark-white walls and flooring, the paint was a dark grey, and the floor was granite. As I stepped through the door, I caught a strong whiff of lavender, and noticed that there were bunches of them lined all around the corners of the room. I looked to the center, and my eyes fell upon a table and two chairs- all completely made out of iron. And on top of the table was the Skull.

I suddenly began to dread the conversation that was going to ensue.

I sat down on one of the chairs, trepidation building up in my veins. Barnes sat opposite me, with a small voice recorder in his hand. He switched it on, and I knew that now, every word I spoke for the next few minutes, every uneasy remark, every sigh, every sob, would be captured and could be replayed. Again. And again. And again. And this way, they might have something to hold against me.

I did everything I could to control my emotions, and spoke as robotically as I could.

"Type Three," I said.

As if summoned, a sudden hissing voice filled my ears. _"They've found out."_ the voice was horror-struck. Sad, almost.

I ignored the comment, continuing, trying to appear as though it hadn't said anything. "Skull, speak to me."

" _All this lavender... All this iron... It's killing me. Do you have_ any _idea what's happening to my plasm?"_

"Uh..."

"Ms. Carlyle," Barnes quipped, "you have to tell us what the Visitor is saying."

"It says that there's too much lavender and iron for it to bear."

" _Lucy,"_ the voice was raspy, urgent. _"Find a way to cross."_

"What?" I asked. Then, quickly, to Barnes: "He needs you to remove all this ghost-proof stuff."

" _Death's in life. Life has to be in death. Maintain the balance..."_

"I'm not getting you," I said.

"Ms. Carlyle, what did it say?"

" _Don't trust anyone other than the ones in your agency."_

"Why?"

"Miss Carlyle!"

" _Lucy..."_ it whispered. _"I'm Ernest."_

And then the plasm dispersed, clouding around the brim of the silver-glass jar.

"Miss Carlyle," Barnes said in irritation, "What did it say?"

"It said that the silver stocks were going down fast," I rushed my words. I wanted to get out of this place as quickly as I could. "And it said it would be happy when we'd run out. It finished off saying that it wasn't going to speak to me with all this iron and lavender around it."

"Did it _have_ to tell us something we already know?" he grumbled, his moustache rippling. "Alright, Ms. Carlyle. I think we're done for now- but I may ask you to come back to the station once we find something out. Till then, this Skull remains with us."

"But-!"

"This is a highly dangerous Source. We can't let you fool around with it in that place of yours you call an agency headquarters. We will keep it until we decide what to do."

I gave up on trying to reason with him. I stood up and walked out of the room to where Lockwood and George were waiting. Thankfully, they didn't ask what had gone on inside there- they knew better than to press me for details. So instead, we walked outside of the dimly lit police station to face the harsh, blinding sunlight and fresh air after what seemed like forever.

But one fact still troubled me.

 _Lucy... Trust the Type Three._

 _Sybil is right. Listen to her, and to Ernest._

 _Lucy... I'm Ernest._

I knew that all of this was chained together, and was all a link, a part of a plan that was much greater.

The Finality.

But what _was_ it?

"We'd better go home," Lockwood said. "The past two days' events has severely drained us all."

I nodded wordlessly, and we started down the street back to Portland Row.

I was still highly worried. Every thing I did or said, every single move, all triggered a chain reaction. It was like pushing a single paper and causing the whole house of cards to fall down. I'd have to be extremely careful.

Starting now.

* * *

 **A/N: Tests have finally come upon me, but I'm faring well with this multitask of writing and studying. I want this story to be really lengthy; I think this fic will last for another two months or even more. So, lots for you guys to read!**

 **I'm too tired to say anything more than this ughhhhhhhhhhh**

 **ligersrcool: Tell me about it. My family notices my injuries more than I do xD**

 **AnonymousAnon: Haha, thanks- sometimes it's just the perfectionist side of me speaking; a nagging voice at the back of my head saying 'you did this wrong!'. And yes, you're spot on there! More suspicious and fear-inducing acts are coming up in Part 3... and there's going to be a dreadful shocker in Part 4 or 5. Or rather, two of them. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill of Lockwood. You should be more worried for Lucy and George... and a few other minor characters in this plot... mwahahaha. Thanks for the lovely review!**

 **montague: *Happy dance* Thank you! I'm so happy you like my writing. I try to be as accurate as possible when it comes to character development/speech/actions. :) And 'Sybil' means 'prophetess' which I thought was suitable. So it was a nice coincidence when I found the name- it clashed with my character description _and_ with one of my favorite books!**

 **ThatBookWormOverThere: Sorry about the cliffhangs :( hehe well at least I didn't end this one with one. Hope you continue to enjoy! :D**

 **Oh, yeah, everyone; this is the last chapter of _'Blackouts and Visions'_!**

 **So I'm giving you one more thing to ponder on; Part 3's name is Enigma (look up the meaning!) I might change it along the way; every name I come up with just isn't right.**

 **Hope you liked it!**

 **-Artemis**


	12. Enigma- Chapter 11

**A/N: I am late by approximately five hours. Oops!**

 **If I tried to explain the delay, the A/N would be as long as the chapter. My excuse is: I was out of the house from yesterday morning to today evening, so no update!**

 **Anyway... A lot of happiness as well as sorrow in this chapter. Also, you didn't think that I was done with Lockwood's past, did you? There's really a lot more to come. More terrible secrets about him. More... Ah... _Irreversible mistakes_ he'd made a long time ago.**

* * *

IMPORTANT: IT MIGHT COME OF USE IF PEOPLE WHO DON'T READ THE A/NS READ THE A/NS TO GET A FEW CLUES.

Enigma

11

As soon as we got home, I collapsed on the couch, massaging my temples.

"Barnes said he'd managed to keep the paparazzi quiet for about an hour," Lockwood said, looking out the window and drawing the curtains. "But he doesn't know how long he can hold them down."

I groaned. "What do we _do?"_

"We'll mull and mope over our problems later," he said. "But first, we all need to wash up."

He was right. I was tired, dirty, sweaty and frazzled. Lockwood looked like he'd waded through a river during a storm. You'd have mistook George for a battered coat rack if you'd seen him.

I ran upstairs and quickly had a cold shower, allowing frigid water to wash off every bit of grime. I changed into fresh clothes, feeling much better. I wore my usual agent outfit- a dark top, a skirt and leggings, plus a coat and boots. Now I didn't look like a beggar, and the dark circles under my eyes weren't so prominent anymore.

After taking my time to get ready, I walked down the stairs. Lockwood and George were already down, discussing the matter.

"Our best option is to find the person who turned us in, let Penelope deal with him, and then after a few days everything will blow over." Lockwood said.

I didn't say what was on my mind- _but what if it didn't?_

"Alright," George said uncertainly. "Only question is, how?"

I possibly had the answer.

There were so many connections, so many coincidences, that there _had_ to be some information tucked away at the corner of my brain. I just had to think.

"Well, we found the Skull at the Fittes Headquarters, didn't we?" I asked. "Why not go back there? Marissa Fittes would've probably discovered it in the first place. We can check some records, and see if the Skull has any links to people who might threaten her this way."

George looked at me strangely. "That's...actually a good idea," he said. "For once, you actually came up with a suggestion that doesn't involve us getting into trouble."

"Oh, as if you come up with the brainiest of our plans," I shot back.

Just as he was about to retort with a comment that would probably commence another saucepan-hurling contest, the doorbell rang.

"Please don't tell me it's the press," I said worriedly.

Lockwood strode over and looked through the peephole. "Not even close," he said. He opened the door, allowing the sunlight to spill into the house, and I could see Mary standing on the threshold.

"Lucy!" she barged in before Lockwood could even say anything. "I heard what had happened. It's all over the city! The news was even on TV! I managed to get here before anyone else- but you'd better hurry if you don't want to be bombed by reporters- or rather, interrogators." She shuddered. "They've found your address, and they're coming. You'd better disappear for a few hours- the three of you."

I groaned. "Can we discuss this situation somewhere else?"

Lockwood nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

I thankfully walked outside, into the cool, bracing outer environment, Mary hurrying next to me. "Let's go to the park," I said. "It's the last place they'd look for us. Besides, it's a nice area for relaxing at this time of the year."

I jogged down the street, anxiously trying to head away from Portland Row. All this attention was the _last_ thing I needed right now.

Guilt grew in me with every passing day, and I didn't know how much longer I could hold all the secrets back from Lockwood and George. Especially since Lockwood was being so nice- I felt that I was betraying him.

We reached the local park, and I thankfully scurried under the shade of a tree, sitting down on a bench. It was almost deserted, except for a few children. I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the rustling of the leaves and feeling the breeze against my skin. I could hear Lockwood conversing with George a few feet away.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was having a minute of peace.

"It must be hard."

I opened my eyes to see Mary. She'd sat down next to me, as silent as a phantom, and had probably been observing me all the while.

"What?"

"All this. Being an agent. Fighting all the time. Trying to rid the country of ghosts... I suppose the publicity, and the unhappy, undesired bits come with it in a package deal."

"Yeah," I said.

"And... And it's sobered you up too." she sighed. "I may be older than you, but this job's made you more mature than me."

I looked at her, but she was staring straight ahead. My heart panged when I noticed her blinking rapidly, trying to keep tears out of her eyes.

Where had all the fun gone?

How had the bonds with my family just vanished?

I was only fifteen; not really an adult. And yet, I'd already bid farewell to my childhood when I'd signed up for this job. (A/N: Lucy is really 14. Jonathan Stroud revealed their ages: Lucy 15, George and Lockwood 16.)

I turned my head, and allowed myself a smile when I noticed a water fountain next to me.

"Hey, Mary,"

"Hmm?"

"Remember, when we were kids..." I cupped my hands, dipped them into the marble fountain, and filled them with water. "...We used to do _this?"_

I thrust my hands forward, and the water splashed onto Mary's coat. She gave a half-laugh, half-shriek. "Oh, you _didn't!"_

I gave her a grin, and my eyes widened as she leaned over, collected water in her palms and poured it over my head.

"Hey, that's _cold!"_ I said, bristling.

"Well, you ruined my coat,"

"It's just _water!"_

"Exactly."

With a smirk, I scooped up a handful of the liquid. Mary turned on her heel and started to run, but I was quicker. The water soaked her back and hair, making her screech. Soon, we were chasing each other all over the place, dousing each other, laughing and playing like kids. Somehow, the fight morphed into a game of tag, something I hadn't played in about three years. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lockwood and George surveying us with raised eyebrows. Mary ran over to them, and she tapped George.

"You're 'it'!" she yelled playfully.

His eyes bulged as Lockwood chuckled. "I don't play these silly games! I'm not a child!"

"Everytime we don't buy doughnuts when we have the chance, you always sit on the couch and glare at us until one of us has to step out to buy them. If that's not childish, I don't know what is," Lockwood pointed out.

George gave an indignant squeak before sitting down grumpily on the park bench.

Lockwood rolled his eyes. "My case in point."

The game continued for a while, till both of us were thoroughly exhausted. We sat down on the grass, smiling stupidly, breathing heavily.

"That was the most fun I've had since-" Mary's happy expression faded to a rather overcast, sad one. "Since you left."

I looked at my outstretched feet, remorse filling me. "I'm sorry about that," I said. "Maybe... Maybe once this is all over, I'll visit you."

She looked up, her eyes filled with hope. "You'd do that?"

"I suppose I should," I replied. "I've been away too long. Perhaps I'll come home once a month."

"Home," she echoed. "It's not home without you, Lucy."

We sat there silently for a few more moments. Then Mary looked at her watch.

"It's getting late," she said. "I'm going to go back to my hotel. I've to research," she said.

My ears perked up. "Research? But for what?"

"I need to find out who's threatening your life," she said worriedly.

Panic filled me as I remembered what had happened to Lockwood's sister. She'd been nosy. She'd pried around everywhere, and as a result...

"Mary," I said, gripping her arm. "Don't. It's alright, it'll be fine. The press will be crowding around me for the most of the day; nobody will dare do anything when there are so many people around. Please, drop the issue."

"I can't, Lucy," she sighed. "You're my sister. And no matter what you say, I have to take care of you. Even though it's been a while, I still love you."

She got to her feet, turned and walked away, and despair and anxiety replaced the remaining hope and joy. I stood up and strode over to Lockwood and George, who were sitting on the bench nearby.

"We'd better head over to the Fittes Headquarters," George said. "We need to solve this case, and fast. We'd better leave in five minutes."

He got up and began walking around, leaving me and Lockwood alone.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us. "So, I assume that you and Mary have regained your bond?" he asked.

"I suppose," I said. "We still need a little time for everything to become normal between us, though."

He nodded vigorously, not looking me in the eye. My eyes narrowed at his behavior.

"Lockwood," I said suspiciously, "What's wrong?"

I sat down. He finally looked up to meet my gaze, and I could see distrust in his eyes.

"I..." he began, "Well, let's just say that Esperanza and I weren't very close. She talked to her friends more often than she talked to me. For a while, I... I used to think that she didn't love me even half as much as I loved her."

His eyes filled with sadness, and I looked at him sympathetically.

He was really strong, but that didn't mean I could ignore the fact that he'd had a horrendous childhood that had damaged him.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Lockwood, how could you think that? I'm sure she loved you. You're an amazing person- why on Earth would she not care?"

He hesitated, before nodding, even though I could see he wasn't very convinced. "You're right, Luce. Well, let's get going. We can't sit around here all day. As George said, we've to finish this fast. Besides, I'm getting restless- there's nothing to do!"

"Lockwood-!"

But he'd already stood up and walked away. I sighed.

Why was he _trying_ to distance himself from me?

Feeling even worse, I stood up and ran towards Lockwood, already halfway down the street; I thought he was a bit _too_ eager to study files in the archives.

* * *

The Fittes Headquarters was huge- I'd never seen a place bigger, and I wasn't very likely to, either. Its glass doors and windows sparkled in the sunshine. A large statue of the morose, frowning Marissa Fittes sat in the center of the large hall. Crystal chandeliers and lamps hung from the ceiling high, high above. Agents, supervisors and staff members alike bustled around us, hurrying to get their allotted tasks done. I eased into the sea of humanity, relieved by the fact that I wasn't going to be bombarded by reporters in such a vastly crowded area.

"Time to do some research," Lockwood said, clasping his hands together. He looked straight ahead at the reception counter, where a stern, wiry woman sat, speaking into the receiver of a telephone. We walked over. She spotted us, spoke a few words to the person on the other end of the line, and hung up. She then surveyed us with reproachful eyes.

"Good day, madam. We'd like to access the Fittes Archives, for records of dangerous Visitors," Lockwood said charmingly, flashing one of his signature 1000-megawatt grin.

The woman was unperturbed by his dazzling smile. "And exactly who gave you the authority to search in there?" she snapped.

Lockwood's grin faltered. "Well-"

"That's all right, Lauren. You can let them in."

We turned around to find Penelope Fittes striding over, a completely calm and collected expression on her face. Of course- she was in her domain, and would be completely relaxed.

The receptionist, Lauren, hesitated. "Are you sure, Madam?"

"Yes, absolutely. I know these three; close acquaintances of mine."

Lauren still didn't seem very convinced, but nonetheless, she extracted a key from a drawer, and with a sigh, stood up. "Follow me, please." She then proceeded to move across the hall.

Penelope Fittes looked at us with steely eyes. "You're looking for information about the Skull, I suppose. A good idea, but with a drawback- you need to search _everything._ Anything might matter. Don't miss out on a single bit. And don't mess this up."

An employee emerged at her side, informing her about urgent business to attend to, and without another glance at us, she was swept away by staff members and was soon dissolved in the crowd.

Lockwood, George and I exchanged glances. We walked over to Lauren, standing near a door, impatiently tapping her foot against the pristine marble floor.

She inserted the large silver key into a lock before pushing the two enormous doors inward. We shuffled inside, our eyes widening as we stared at the contents of the room. There were numerous rows of dusty books, many of them about theories of the Other Place, Visitors, and plasm. Shelves and stands of scripts and documents towered over us, stacked high almost till the ceiling. We found a table and sat down, scanning everything with amazement. George seemed to be drinking the sight in very slowly. The room was deserted, except for the four of us.

Lauren set the key down on the polished rosewood. "When you leave, remember to lock up," she said. "Don't let anyone else enter, unless they have a permission slip with them. If you don't follow these rules, I will see to it that you're reprimanded."

She then turned on her heel and sauntered off, slamming the doors behind her with a dramatic flourish.

"Well, she was nice," Lockwood muttered. He sprang up. "Come on, we don't have all day. We need to sort this out quick!"

I nodded and stood up, checking the shelf nearest to me. My heart was filled with determination.

We'd solve this.

We _had_ to.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh, Lockwood... Why do you try to distance yourself so...  
**

 **Well. I've revealed only HALF of his past. I reread the Whispering Skull at breakfast and I came to a part in the book that nearly made me choke on my orange juice, and I came up with a brilliant last-minute backstory. It will all be revealed. But not soon. Hehe.**

* * *

 **REVIEWSS**

 **Celestialite: MWAHAHA I'm happy it's weird. It's supposed to be worryingly weird hehe**

 **ligersrcool: MORE INTENSITY COMING UP SOON! I'm glad you enjoyed it! :D**

 **AnonymousAnon: Oh, there's going to be one major death and- wait, no spoilers. :) I'm afraid chapters 12 and 13 are only going to confuse you more about the Ernest/Sybil/Lucy thing. And Enigma will have to do, I'm happy it fits for now! :D And thanks, I'm doing as much as I can to keep writing. Have a nice weekend!**

 **MehScrewIt: Reading your review made me want to update five days early, but I had to stop myself or Writer's Block will overcome me. And haha, I'm glad you found my story and are enjoying it! Hope you continue reading this, and that it continues to be thrillingly spooky. Thanks for the review!**

 **montague: Thanks! :D And yes, that's correct; the iron shortage IS due to an adult. But the character who does it remains unknown... DON'T GUESS THOUGH, or you'll unravel my whole plot. xD Thanks for the nice review!**

 **SOOOO Keep waiting for updates, everyone!**

 **-Artemis**


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: So I checked my story today and guess what I saw on the statistics?**

 **2134 views.**

 ***whispers* _How?_ Thank you all so much for reading, even if you're one of those anonymous readers who checks my story daily but doesn't comment. **

**This chapter's longer than usual, but I'm really worried because I haven't gotten down to writing my story and I've completely lost the headstart of 3 chapters I began with. I'm going to have to spend the weekend on a writing spree to get back on track...**

* * *

12

"We _can't_ solve this," I moaned, banging my head on the table.

"We've got to," Lockwood said firmly, his eyes set. "For our company, Luce. Something will turn up. It's _got_ to! Penelope Fittes can't be the most successful person in London and not have any enemies."

I gritted my teeth as I picked up another thick file and leafed through it.

We'd been working in the Fittes Archives for more than half an hour, and were still fruitless. We'd found absolutely _nothing_ which _c_ ould give us even the slightest of clues. Penelope Fittes was a scrubbed, picture-perfect angel, popular among everyone- the way she carried herself, and walked, and talked, seemed to scream "AUTHORITY!" in your face. She brought with her an aura of dangerous power, so very few with a right mind would dare provoke her wrath. I felt only pity for the person after her; once we caught him or her- that is, _if_ we caught him or her- they were going to have a long, painful life ahead of them in prison.

Nothing we read was useful; we'd found old newspapers highlighting her achievements, tricky cases which she'd solved; even flashy photographs of her childhood. As a kid, she'd been a pretty young girl with gossamer coal-black curls and large innocent eyes, much unlike her solemn, frowning grandmother Marissa Fittes.

My eyes were dull as they flicked across pages, pages filled with words that didn't even register in my brain. I flipped leaf after leaf of each folder stacked high on the table. I was picking my way through my forty-second or so, feeling hopelessly cranky and irritable. Then a picture, captioned with big, bold letters, drew my attention. My eyes narrowed as I read it with suspicion and curiosity.

GRAVEDIGGER SYKES: A BIOGRAPHY

The name rang a bell in my head, and I suddenly remembered a flashback from not-so-long ago.

This memory had been created in a cafe close to Limehouse Station, when George had been home, and Lockwood and I had tried to derive information about Jack Carver. We'd been speaking to a rather _mysterious_ girl from Lockwood's past.

He'd told us the story of his parents, alright; but he'd never told us about the little memories when he was young, or his childhood friends, or the people he met.

That night, I'd come to know a bit about one such person- Florence Bonnard. She was independent and unwilling to be ruled. But I'd found out a little more than that.

" _I'd rather walk in the tideline. Scratch my bum and look at the stars, and do it on my own terms."_ her words resonated in my head.

" _I know exactly what you mean,"_ Lockwood had said. _"The stars bit, anyway."_

And then Flo had replied with something that I wasn't likely to forget soon. _"Yeah, because you were Gravedigger Sykes' lad. You got taught right. Keep yourself independent. Be a maverick. Dance to your own drum."_

I'd been resentful at the fact that Flo knew much more about Lockwood than I did- but in the long run, that useful bit of information had helped me recognize something much more interesting.

What else had she said? _"I keep myself informed. I like to read the papers, before I wipe myself with 'em."_

My brain became aware of a sudden opportunity- a very, very rare one, at that- to delve deeper into Lockwood's history. Some things had to be found out, not just asked. I doubted he would be comfortable with me interrogating him. The whole story of his childhood would unravel soon, but in how long? Weeks? Months? I was dreadfully impatient- and if I were to prepare myself for all the warnings the Skull was giving me, and 'the Finality' that the ghost told me about in my dream, then I'd have to be as secretive as possible. I'd need to know _everything_ which could be of importance.

Making sure neither of them were looking, I quietly slipped the folder into the lining of my jacket. I knew what I was going to be doing for the next week.

Pouring over old newspapers from the local library.

"I've got something!" George yelled from the other side of the room.

I was knocked out of my hazy stupor. I stood up and strode over to George, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was holding.

Lockwood was next to me in a flash. "What is it?"

George seemed extremely hesitant, shocked even. He pointed to a photograph in his hand, captioned with neat print.

"Penelope Fittes, age 13, with Moira and James Lockwood, 27 and 30 years old respectively."

Lockwood visibly staggered backwards. "Wait. Those- they're my-"

All of a sudden, my heart was hammering in my chest. I could barely concentrate on what was being spoken. "Your parents?" George squeaked.

"Yes, but... How?"

Alarms seemed to ring in my head. "Lockwood," I said, "Did you know about this?"

He looked at me; there was confusion and evident hurt in his eyes. "No," he said. "They never told- they didn't..."

None of us finished the sentence. His parents never told him what they'd been doing. Lockwood had been shielded from all the bad aspects of their job. He said they'd been increasingly secretive for two weeks before they died.

And then a very harsh realization crashed into me.

"Wait a second," I said wildly, thoughts running amok in my head. "Your parents worked with Fittes. Penelope Fittes is the head of this agency. The people who started the fire have found out that you're after them, and Penelope got mixed up in it, too."

We looked up.

"Which means..." George said.

"...Which means Esperanza's killer is Penelope's assailant."

* * *

The next half of the frenzied search proved much more effective. We searched the index for entries on Moira and James Lockwood. If we couldn't dig up any information on her associates, then we'd have to research her _connections_.

And who better than Lockwood's parents?

It would not only help me find out more about him, but it would help _him_ find out more about his sister's killer- the one who set the fire.

Surprisingly enough, they were pretty well-known; I found dozens of files all related to them. Lockwood was so lively; he wore a broad grin as he flicked through each article, laughing childishly as he pointed them out. "Look!" he'd say. "They solved this case single-handedly. Whole _teams_ of Rotwell couldn't get it done!"

George and I couldn't help but share smiles as we watched him bound across the room, eagerly sticking his nose into each folder.

I sat down at a table, looking at old newspapers highlighting their achievements. I could see various pictures of their happy faces, gazing into the camera with energy and life in their eyes.

"They really loved each other, didn't they?" I sighed.

Lockwood didn't respond; he didn't have to.

And then I turned the page and my peaceful mood instantly evaporated.

"George. Lockwood." I said. "Look at this."

They hurried over and stared at what I was pointing at.

"A group photo," I muttered.

Lockwood's brows inclined downwards. His eyes were filled with suspicion and simmering anger.

"Moira and James Lockwood, with Penelope Fittes..." he read.

"...And Sybil Audley," George whispered.

We were silent as we stared at the picture of four people, one of them who might be the cause of three murders.

And that person had been the one to warn me.

"We've found out all the information we need from here," Lockwood said firmly as he sprang up, returning all documents to their shelves.

"But-"

"No, Luce. We've already got the name of a probable killer; if we need more proof, we can always visit again. Now that Penelope Fittes herself has allowed us access, I don't think our entrance is forbidden."

"But don't you think it's a better idea to accumulate more suspects first?" I asked. "So we can narrow down our search, in case we're wrong."

"Lucy!" he turned around, livid. "The case she gave us was _much_ like the Red Room. She had the same intention Fairfax did; to murder us. It _can't_ be a coincidence. She confronts us with a case, we solve it, and the next moment we're turned in to DEPRAC? It's _her_."

I was quiet as he shooed us out of the room. He exited and locked the doors. The Fittes hall was still largely crowded, but we picked our way out of the chaos, returned the key to the front desk, and left through the glass doors of the Fittes Headquarters.

It had rained the previous night, and puddles of water had accumulated all along the roads. Ponds around us sparkled merrily in the bright light; the sun beamed down at us, showering us with golden rays. On an ordinary day, I would've enjoyed, but I could sense Lockwood's anger. It radiated off him. Even though he didn't visibly show it, I knew him long enough to understand that he was fuming internally, and given the chance, would explode.

And then along came a problem on legs- Sybil Audley, sitting placidly on a bench under a tree.

I whirled in front of Lockwood, blocking her from his point of view. "Lockwood, George, why don't you go home? The press might be there, and I don't think I'm ready for that. Besides, I think you need some time."

Lockwood sucked in a deep breath and mustered all his calm. Then he gave me a bright smile. "Sure, Luce. We'll go ahead." Both of them continued walking, George glancing over his shoulder to give me a strange look. Neither of them spotted the seer sitting innocently just a few meters away.

As soon as I was out of their vicinity, I dashed over to her.

"Sybil-"

"Hello, Lucy Carlyle. You never gave me a report on my house." There was evident displeasure in her voice.

But displeasure at what?

That we were still alive, perhaps?

"Yeah, we sealed the Sources. They're in the room, you can send them to Fittes for incineration. But I-"

"But what?" she asked sternly. There was a glint in her eye.

Words failed me. My mind went blank looking at her. She may look unimpressive, but from what I'd seen her do, she was likely to win over you some way.

And when it had come to Lockwood's parents, she'd had the upper hand.

 _She told you about Ernest, and all the things that were about to happen,_ a sensible voice in my head reasoned.

 _But Lockwood..._

That dragged me back onto the path I was taking. I inhaled deeply. "Sybil. You knew Moira and James Lockwood, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said dreamily. "Very nice people. Such a happy couple. You don't see that nowadays. We were so close... They used to come to my house every Saturday for tea."

"Is that why you came to us, to solve your case? You wanted to consult someone you could trust?"

"I didn't come because Lockwood was the son of my dear friends, if that's what you're trying to imply. I came because of you."

I paused. "Why me?"

"I can't tell you. It'll jeopardize the coming of the Finality."

I decided to pent out all my frustration then and there. "Why won't you tell me what's going _on?"_ My voice rose to a crescendo. People turned and stopped to give us strange looks, then continued on their way.

She looked at me, and her eyes dulled. She finally sighed. "Sit down," she said.

I obliged and seated myself next to her.

"I can't tell you the whole story. Otherwise, the person who's after you will find out, and you will most certainly die.

"But I _can_ say this; you play a vital role in all this, Lucy. What do you think 'the Finality' means?"

"The end of something. But the end of what?"

"Death or life."

"Death or..." it dawned on me. "The end of either Visitors or humans?"

"And if you know too much, then you could alert your enemies. Your enemies, who are much like me. Who can See into the future. And if they find out you know too much, then they'll kill you. But as of now, you're too important for them to murder."

"So what do I have to do?"

"Trust George. Trust Ernest- I think you know who he is by now. Trust me, and the mask."

"The mask?"

"She was the one who appeared in your dream."

"That- that was her? Who is she? Who _was_ she?"

"You'll find out." She stood up to walk away.

"Wait!" I called out. Sybil stopped and turned, gazing at me with a questioning look.

"What about Lockwood? Shouldn't I trust him as well?"

She hesitated, then spoke. "He is a good person, but it's best to keep him in the dark for now. He can be violent- he _will_ be violent. You shouldn't trust him with your secrets. He can manipulate you into giving them to him, and once in the wrong hands..." she shuddered. Before she left, though, she paused.

"And Lucy..."

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens tomorrow... Don't grieve. It's best to move on. You shouldn't blame yourself for what happens."

And then Sybil finally walked away, leaving me twice as confused, with twice the number of questions I originally had.

It took all my willpower not to scream right in the middle of the road. Now my mood as bad as Lockwood's, I trudged along the pavement, trying to get back to Portland Row.

* * *

 **A/N: It appears as though I made a slight mistake in the last chapter; Lucy's 15 and the other two 16. Ahhh, my memory's not very reliable, is it.** **-_-**

 **Celestialite: Ooh, that's probably one of the two reasons. _Probably._ *evil laughter* **

**ligersrcool: Thank you! :D The Locklyle fluff is going to happen soon, though. Possibly in another 2 or 3 chapters, so just wait.**

 **MehScrewIt: Ahhh, I hope you get over Writer's Block soon, too! Hehe, sorry for not telling you, but that's the annoying part about plots, isn't it? You've to wait. I've already been cursed right now with a huge pile of work, so no more evil incantations for me, thanks. XD Did I mention how funny this review was? No? Well it was. Thanks!**

 **Guest: Wow, thank you! That was really positive. All I can say for now is that everything is going to come crashing down, and it's not going to be very easy for even one of the trio. Thank you for such a nice review! More sarcasm coming up, and Locklyle is steadily nearing! Enjoy the rest of the fanfic!**

 **AnonymousAnon: HINT: I'm going to feel very guilty killing off this character. Very guilty. This chapter gave you some answers, didn't it? :D Although now I seemed to have added a not-deliberate sense of trepidation. Oops. XD Thanks!**

 **BookWorm: YASS, thank you! :D Enjoy the story!**

 **PEOPLEPEOPLEPEOPLE LUCEWOOD/LOCKLYLE COMING UP IN ANOTHER 2/3 CHAPTERS, BE PREPARED! (Don't get overexcited though, since I'm starting it off gradual.)**

 **-Artemis**


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: This chapter's shorter than usual, sorry! I'm not finding much inspiration to write and all my ideas are mixing up in my head. But I suppose this'll have to do.**

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13

I stood under a tree, unmoving, hesitant. Portland Row was just five minutes away from where I was standing, but I was unwilling to go back. I desperately needed time to think; but if I walked away right now, Lockwood and George would know something was wrong. However, there would most certainly be reporters who'd jump on me the instant I was in their vicinity.

I groaned, feeling extremely distressed.

 _Better face them now than later._

I worriedly walked up the street, trying to calm my thumping heart, hoping that there weren't any people swarming around 35 Portland Row; hoping that there weren't any mad reporters screaming for Lucy Carlyle at the top of their voices.

My hope evapourated as I saw the crowd.

Cameras were out, hands with microphones in them were waved around in the air. I could see Lockwood and George standing helplessly on the front porch, yelling into the large pack of people, trying to get them to stand down. They hadn't seen me yet.

I hastened forward, looking down, letting the hair fall over my forehead and obscure my eyes. I could get climb up the water pipes that snaked up the side of the house and get in through the window; maybe then I could avoid the-

"There she is!" somebody yelled.

I gave an inward groan and looked up. People had made a beeline for me, and suddenly a dozen more cameras were held up. I shielded my face with my hand. No. Not pictures.

I hurried towards Lockwood and George, who were frantically beckoning me to _get into the bloody house._ I reached the door just as reporters reached me, throwing cameras in my face. I heard the loud noises of shutters, and stars winked in front of my eyes as blinding flashes of light accompanied with clicks told me that everyone was madly shooting photos.

I turned around to face the crowd, wincing.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about the Type Three?" asked someone loudly.

"It's too much trouble," I replied. "In case it had been mislaid, it could probably break free, and there'd be chaos." I didn't even know why I was answering their questions. _Ignore the press_ seemed like the best option I had.

"And it would be locked away somewhere with all the other Sources," George added. "That wouldn't be good for the face of science. We need to get somewhere with ridding London of ghosts, and stashing the Skull away isn't the correct answer."

"How many times did you converse with it?" a random person shot from the back of the crowd. "Did it say anything about ghosts and the Other Place?"

"Please, everyone," Lockwood stepped forward. He seemed as calm and collected as ever, and his face showed no sign of worry- but he lacked the usual 1000-megawatt grin he reserved for tight situations like this. I supposed he just didn't have the energy for it. "The Skull is a dangerous Visitor, but it isn't likely that it possesses much knowledge of vital importance. If it had, we most certainly would have handed it in to DEPRAC earlier. That's all for now."

And with that, he ushered us both inside, despite the protests of the public outside.

Once we were in, he shut the door and bolted it. George and I yanked the curtains forward to obscure the windows. I shivered; not from the cold, but from trepidation.

"We can't do anything right now," Lockwood said. "It's just evening. Soon they'll realize we're not coming out, and they'll hurry home to avoid the ghosts," he said.

"I'm not in a mood to do anything while they're still around," George said. "And now, with the Skull gone, there isn't much to do."

I sighed, rubbing my eyes blearily. "I'll be up in my room," I muttered, slowly trudging up the stairs.

Once I reached, I stood at the doorway, unwilling to enter. I surveyed the scene, drinking up the sight; the enormous pile of laundry piled up a few steps from where I was standing; the loose floorboards and tarnished walls; my wonky, battered bed.

And under that wonky, battered bed...

I walked over and knelt down. I looked at the various cardboard boxes stacked under, and a wave of nostalgia hit me. Over a year ago, I'd hidden under in this gap to avoid getting ghost-touched by Annie Ward. That was the time when I had stopped worrying about my family, and had settled comfortably into my new life. That was the time when things weren't so... _messed up._

I'm not saying it wasn't messed up then. Sixty thousand pounds isn't easy to repay, but we'd managed it anyway.

One side of my brain warned me not to, but I couldn't resist plunging my hand into one of the boxes and fingering the items till I found something cold and smooth. I grasped it and pulled it out, staring at it.

I used my free hand to brush the dust off the glass of the photo frame.

Sadness hit me as I peered at my younger self, standing with my sisters and mother in a grassy field. The sun shone down radiantly; the morning was crisp and bright. All of us were smiling; I was grinning from ear to ear, like I had no care in the world. I remembered this day well; we had gone out for a picnic and someone had been nice enough to take a photo for us. We'd then framed the photograph in a custom-made frame, with each of our initials engraved into the border. It really was special.

But now I stared at it, the colors dull and faded, the frame dented and old; and the glass split clean in the middle.

I swallowed to get rid of the lump in my throat and placed the photo back in the box, feeling even worse, if possible.

I stood up and shook off my coat, dumping it on my bed with a sad groan.

Only, my coat landed with a rather muffled _thump._

I turned my head and looked at it, frowning. Then a wave of understanding hit me, and I remembered that I'd placed a folder in its inner pocket.

A folder on Gravedigger Sykes.

Eager to distract myself from the remorse and self-pity I was feeling, I quickly strode across to the door and locked it. I didn't want Lockwood and George barging in. They were civilized enough so as to knock before they entered, but I was going to take no chances.

I kicked off my boots and flopped down on the bed, picking up the file tentatively. I sucked in a deep breath.

Could I really do this?

I was digging into someone else's life; _Lockwood's_ personal life. If he found out, he'd be devastated. I'd break a bond with him that I didn't think would be easy to regain.

It could only go down from here. More lies, more betrayal. I'd be unable to sleep at night, being insecure and torn between hiding and coming clean.

 _If you want to live, don't tell this to your associates._

I fought down the urge to sink to the ground and surrender to helplessness. I swallowed again.

For our good.

For survival.

I moved my hand, which felt like it didn't belong to me, and opened to the first page.

This wasn't like most biographies, boring and long and vividly described. It was a short history of his life, beginning from when and where he was born, to his early years at Fittes, to training mentees, to-

-Training mentees, hold on.

My eyes narrowed as I stared at the dull photographs of some of his batches of students. I couldn't stop staring at one particular person in one particular crowd. His eyes were wide with happiness, and dark irises stared into the lens of the camera. On his face was a huge grin.

He still had that 1000-megawatt smile, even in his childhood.

I found myself thinking that young Lockwood was inexplicably cute.

 _Snap out of it,_ I told myself, and managed to tear my gaze away from the picture.

I looked at the top of the paragraph.

 _Gravedigger Sykes preferred training children for the post of agents to actually working on cases. He taught them fencing, from simple moves like advancing to complex pattern, including the balestra. One of his widely disproved learning methods included convincing his trainees to start up their own independent agencies, rather than work for widely known ones like Fittes, where he'd trained for seven years._

 _Most of his pupils did very well, and reported that he was an excellent teacher. The students that excelled particularly received credit from Mr. Sykes. They included John Thomas, Abby Greens, Anthony Lockwood..._

After seeing Lockwood's name, my eyes glazed over and my consciousness suddenly conjured up relaxing images of Lockwood training with Sykes, him becoming better and better at swordplay, and soon beating Kipps in the competition and prodding him in the bum. It was no wonder that he was so good with a rapier.

I also became worried at how much else he was hiding from us.

Well, I wasn't exactly being very truthful either.

I flipped to a different section.

 _Part 2: Early Years at Fittes_

 _Gravedigger Sykes began working for the Fittes Agency from the age of eight till sixteen. His Talent of Sight started deteriorating soon after that, and that was when he became a supervisor. He quit his job and started training children at the age of twenty-two._

 _In his first two years he excelled and passed Grade One. His supervisor described him as bright, intelligent, and able to cooperate with other team members. He..._

I skimmed the rest of the page, before coming to a halt at another line.

 _...Gravedigger Sykes worked well in a team. He maintained a close relationship with one of his coworkers and friends, Sybil Audley._

I nearly dropped the folder out of shock. Sybil Audley seemed to be involved in _everything._ I didn't know whether that was a hint to trust her or not.

My brows furrowed as my line of sight darted across the pages, trying to search for more information.

I found none.

Frustrated, I slammed the file down next to me, gritting my teeth. After a moment's reconsideration, I picked it up again and flipped to back to the Training Mentees part, and stared at Lockwood's innocent face in the picture. A feeling rose in my chest which, at that moment, I didn't quite understand, but it was a nice feeling nonetheless. The movement of my eyes was slurred as my vision lazily traveled across the paragraphs of notable students.

 _Most of his pupils did very well, and reported that he was an excellent teacher. The students that excelled particularly received credit from Mr. Sykes. They included John Thomas, Abby Greens, Anthony Lockwood..._

My eyes refocused as my brain detected a very loathsome name that snapped me back to reality.

 _...and Kat Godwin._

This time, I really _did_ drop the folder.

I blinked twice, thrice, rubbed my face, but her name was still etched on the paper, sneering up at me with some sort of snide innocence. I wasn't just imagining it, then. What, that vicious she-wolf, Gravedigger Sykes' recruit?

Sybil Audley, I could understand. She was a Seer, and irritatingly, she _tried_ getting caught up in the middle of everything.

But Kat Godwin?

Seems like that stupid team of Fittes do-gooders were more intriguing than they let on.

I could hear the bell ring; footsteps ensued as either Lockwood or George made a move to open it. I hoped it wasn't the press, begging for more answers.

I heard voices; Lockwood's irritated tone, and somebody's else's too, familiar but not very welcoming. Then, suddenly, the handle of my door turned but jammed halfway, and I was relieved that I'd locked it. It must have been urgent if neither of them knocked.

"Lucy?" George's muffled voice announced.

"Yeah, just trying to sleep. One second." I pulled my boots back on and shoved the file under the bed mattress. I still had a bit more to read, which I _would_ get down to sometime later.

I opened the door to his angry face.

"We've got unexpected guests," he muttered.

"Don't we always," I grumbled and walked down the stairs, him right behind me.

Sybil Audley.

 _Kat Godwin._

 _Of all the people in the world-_

I saw the visitors standing in our living room and stopped dead.

Speak of the devil.

"We have to talk," Quill Kipps said, with his cronies Godwin, Ned Shaw and Bobby Vernon right behind him, staring at us like sullen waiters.

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter: The beginning of Lucewood, and a lot of regrets and guilt.**

 **Starting off with subtle fluff and then I'll hoist the flag and the ship will be ready to go.**

 **Anyway...**

 **Celestialite: SOON, VERY SOON.**

 **Bookworm: YES! :D**

 **ligersrcool: Yeah, I really don't like Violent Lockwood, and I feel embarrassed bringing it up because him and violent are poles apart, so I'll just give you a hint. _He's not going to be himself._ I think that's really all I can say. **

**berryblood: Aww, thanks, I'm happy you feel that way! Locklyle coming up, hold on for another week.**

 **Guest: Sybil's a seer(a very annoying one at that), and she, well, _Sees_ into the future, so she knows hehe. But she can't reveal the whole story to Lucy or she'll 'jeopardize the coming of the Finality' and Lucy will die. Oops! And the tea statement cracked me up by the way. XD Thanks for the review! Hope you continue reading and enjoying!**

 **AnonymousAnon: Well, she didn't ask if she should trust George because Sybil already said she should, with her brilliant drama 'Trust-George-and-me-and-Ernest-and-the-Mask' XD And funny, that's the same question I thought at the end of the Whispering Skull. But I've got everything figured out! Oh, and also, Chapter 15 will answer your questions about trusting whom. I think. Thanks! :D**

 **MehScrewIt: Yeah, you spelt it right! Don't worry, ideas always come, just open up Microsoft Word and start typing like a lunatic, and something will enter your brain. Works for me. XD AND EMBRACE THE WEIRDNESS, being weird=being awesome. (I should know; I'm in the clan) Haha :)**

* * *

 **OOH, GUYS, I GOT SEVEN REVIEWS ON LAST CHAPTER, which is my most yet. I checked my statistics, and I've got 60 reviews in total. You guys have any idea how phenomenal that is for me? THANK YOU, TO ALL YOU REGULAR COMMENTATORS, AND ONE-TIME APPRECIATORS, AND EVERYONE WHO CHECKS THIS STORY REGULARLY AND ADDS TO THE NUMBER OF VIEWS! You all are amazing.**

 **Coming up next chapters:  
Chapter 14- The start of Lucewood, guilt and regret.  
Chapter 15- Horrid trust issues and a shell-shocking incident. (This one you may want to look out for, and this is a really T-rated chapter.)  
**

 **-Artemis**


	15. Chapter 14

**I'M SO SORRY, I'M SO SORRY, I'M SO SORRY! I haven't updated in, what, 12 days? That's because I was busy like, THE WHOLE WEEKEND, and I got maybe 2 minutes of relaxation. And then something went wrong with Fanfiction, and for four whole days I couldn't even LOG into my account because it kept throwing a bunch of Error 503s at me. But anyway, I'm back, and...  
** **WRITER'S BLOCK.** **WRITER'S BLOCK.** **WRITER'S BLOCK.  
** ***SUPREME HYPERVENTILAITON* It t** **ook me all my might and willpower to write this, and I'm just relieved I managed to get it to the adequate length.**

* * *

14

Quill Kipps, Bobby Vernon, Ned Shaw and Kat Godwin were the most strange-looking team you'd find; aside from us, that is. At least _we_ looked like casual teenagers with erratic personalities, ready to take on the world of Visitors with charisma and elegance.

Wait. I think I'm describing not the entire team, but solely Lockwood. Oh, well, getting back on topic...

We didn't have a uniform, and more or less blended in with the crowd, looking like three friends. But Kipps' team? No. Their bland grey uniforms seemed to beg for authority rather than radiate it, and they by themselves looked clumsy and undignified. Kipps, with his rapier attached to a shiny belt, weighed down immensely by about a kilogram of jewels plastered all over it like a glitzy teenager girl's birthday gift. His carrot-coloured hair stood out like a dove among crows, and he was short- shorter than Lockwood, a little shorter than me.

Kat Godwin had become even more pouty since I'd last seen her- her chin jutted out even more, and she'd coated her lips with a disgusting shade of red lipstick, making her look like a dracula.

I sized these two up properly, trying to detect anything from them that could possibly link them to Lockwood's parents' murder.

"Inspector Barnes gave us a case," Kipps muttered.

"Wonderful," I snapped before I could stop myself. "So why come to us?"

His eye twitched, but he didn't look at me. "He wants us to work on it together."

"What, again?" Lockwood wasn't smiling, but his face betrayed no sign of anger or irritation.

"He wants us to find more Type Threes. Perhaps test the one currently in captivity."

George jerked upwards, Lockwood visibly stiffened and raised his eyebrows, and my pulse suddenly escalated.

"That's ridiculous," George said. "There are hundreds of Visitors in London, if not thousands. How are we to find Type Threes amidst all of them?"

Kipps seemed as resentful as us; possibly even more. "Don't ask," he said. "Barnes' orders, to keep us preoccupied, so that we don't get any 'ideas'. And might I add that's all _your_ fault? _You_ messed with that bloody Skull, _you_ stole the Confessions, _you_ messed up, big-time. Barnes is searching all the Fittes units now, and it's our job to help. So we'd best get started."

This was _stupid._

Utterly stupid.

"What about the Visitor currently in custody?" I asked with trepidation.

Godwin gave a haughty snort. "You mean your stupid Ghost-in-the-Jar? We're supposed to decipher whatever it says, apparently."

I frowned. _"We?"_

She sighed in exasperation, as though she were speaking to a child. "Both of us, since we're both Listeners."

My chest filled with dread. What if there was something the Skull- Ernest- needed to say to me, but couldn't, since Kat was standing in the way?

George's voice jarred me back to reality. "When do we start?" he asked grumpily.

"We begin our hunt tomorrow, searching houses and reports, and we'll go ghost-hunting from the next night. We've to continue this until we find _something._ London's big. There just can't be _one_ Type Three in all this area."

I let my eyes flick for just one second to the Mask, dainty and sparkling, sitting on the shelves, forgotten among the other antiques.

Considered ordinary.

But not.

"Alright, then." Lockwood said. "We'll begin tomorrow. Today, we've to do a little bit of research work."

"Agreed," Kipps said, "for once. Until then, let's keep out of each other's paths."

I made a noise in disbelief and shut the door just as they turned around to strut back down our front yard.

"Would you look at that," Lockwood exclaimed. "Out of all days to have so much publicity, everyone chose today."

I winced.

It was now six thirty, and I sat in the library, sketching a few pictures. George had stepped out to do some research work, because he clearly did not want to be outwitted by Bobby Vernon. We'd told him that it would be OK for him to relax- after all, this was no competition- but he refused. He didn't want even a dent in his pride.

Lockwood was somewhere in the house, probably reading a few old copies of gossip magazines.

I found myself absentmindedly doodling the Mask, and the Skull, before slapping my notebook shut with a sigh. I was getting too emotionally tied-up with Visitors- that was probably why I always felt a heartwrenching desperation, a burst of adrenalin, every time I encountered one of them. I needed to spend more time with people.

But see, that was the thing. I didn't have any female friends; Flo was the closest to an acquaintance I had, and I wasn't even sure if she could be considered in the feminine category. No, I only had Lockwood and George, and Mary. The rest of my family either didn't care, or cared so much they ended up resenting me.

My head hurt- not only from all this thinking, but from all this sorrow.

I slowly opened the notebook again, and began drawing a face. I didn't know who it'd turn out to be; I just needed a distraction. I squinted in concentration, shaking my head and muttering useless things about Lockwood, and Sybil, and Lockwood's family, and Ernest, and Lockwood's past, and Kat, and Lockwood's sudden distancing from us, and all these infuriating connections that were _so close_ but somehow I just couldn't piece together. The answer would probably be _so_ obvious, but at the moment, it was just a tricky maths problem that you couldn't solve- and only when you got the answer, you'd understand how to do it.

I was not even paying attention to what I was doing; I wasn't really paying attention to anything at all.

So only when my hand came to a rest did my eyes refocus and I realized what- or rather, _whom-_ I had drawn.

Lockwood.

I can't say that it was the best I'd ever done, because it didn't look _exactly_ like him, but I thought it was good nonetheless. I felt rather proud that I'd pulled it off.

Then I became aware that someone else was in the room.

My head jerked up and I saw said person himself standing at the doorway, grinning.

"Hi, Luce," he said.

"Hi," I replied, rather halfheartedly. He walked over, peering at the drawing. "What do you have there?" he asked.

Nervousness rushed through me as he picked up the book and examined it. What if he didn't like it? Wait, how long had he been watching me?

"It's excellent, Lucy. It really is. Although I'm not sure if my nose is that long."

"It is."

"Is it?" there was fake despair in his voice. "I thought I had a nice nose."

"You do." Then my ears turned red as I realized the implication of the sentence, and quickly added, "It's much better than George's, for sure."

He flashed a megawatt grin. "I don't think you should frown so much when you're drawing," he said.

"What?"

"When you sketch, your eyebrows always furrow and you start frowning, and biting your lip. You keep muttering as well. You look much better when you smile- you're actually very _pretty_ when you smile and laugh." He looked away, slightly embarrassed, trying to cover up. "That's not something I usually say." He reddened, and I could hear him mumble, "that just made it worse." Then there was a flustered grin on his face, making up for the 'slip-up'."Do you mind if I keep this?" he asked.

I was slightly surprised, and rather pleased and delighted. "Sure," I said, tearing the page and handing it to him.

He was back to his normal self, all charismatic and happy and dynamic. But he seemed to carry an aura of awkwardness and shyness with him.

He'd actually called me pretty.

Me? I knew he would've been joking, but he wasn't the one for bad jokes. I just decided to laugh and accept it. He was probably being really nice.

"Well, thanks, Luce," he said. "Maybe you should eat something and get rest. It's been a long day for us all."

I nodded, stood up and went to the kitchen, fixing myself a sandwich. I munched it down, suddenly aware of how hungry I was, then moved towards the staircase. I saw Lockwood sitting at the dining table, twiddling his thumbs.

"You're staying up?" I asked.

"Well, someone should. George will be extra tired when he gets back, and I think I should help him."

"I could stay awake, too," I suggested.

"No, Lucy. You've had the worst day among all three of us. You should just rest."

I was too tired to argue or protest, so I gave him a weak smile and trudged up to my room, where I dropped into my bed like a stone and snuggled under the covers.

I'd read the rest of the file later- I was exhausted right now.

I realized that something cold was on my neck, so I picked it up to examine it.

The necklace Lockwood had given me about two weeks ago.

I'd worn it every day, taking it off only before a bath or before bed. It had almost become a part of me; it symbolized my friendship with Lockwood, and how nice he was, so considerate; caring for all of us, even staying up just to give George company when he was home, and I didn't think anyone could be a better friend...

I fell asleep with my hand dangled over the side of the bed, the necklace clutched tightly within my palm.

This time, in my dreams, I was transported to the dreaded DEPRAC interrogation room.

I sat in a cold metal chair, my boots scraping the rough granite floor. Blank grey walls stared at me. I impatiently tapped my fingers on the smooth metal table, waiting for anything to happen.

Something compelled me to close my eyes. I did, and when they opened once more, I saw the Skull on the table, and the pretty female ghost standing behind him sullenly.

I could feel them staring so hard that their gaze drilled holes into my skull. The Visitor's eyes bore into my own, and I could see she was worried.

" _Barnes' stupid plan has thrown a spanner in the works,"_ she said.

"What, hunting for Type Threes?" I asked.

" _No!"_ she was frantic. _"That's all a_ ruse, _don't you see? He wants you to set off on an impossible task, so when you're too busy looking, he can pry into your personal business, and search your house!"_

My blood ran cold- that is, if blood can run cold in visions. I don't know. "Search our home?" I cried out. "Why does he have to make it so complicated? Can't he just get a search warrant?"

" _No! He already_ had _a search warrant, but found nothing, so now it's null. He can't get another without reason, and Penelope Fittes will get suspicious."_

Anger rushed through me. "That's playing dirty! He's a lying hypocrite!"

Ernest finally spoke, and his voice was filled with scorn. _"Oh, yes. You're one to talk, aren't you?"_

" _Ernest, would you mind shutting up for a minute?"_ hissed the ghost woman. _"You'd better find a solution to this, Lucy. Or else they'll find out about Esperanza."_

I groaned and slumped forward. "But how?"

" _Hey, don't ask us. You're the dynamic, efficient third team member of your agency, aren't you?"_ Ernest's sarcastic remark nearly made me curse.

I scowled, about to bite back with a foul retort, when he interrupted. _"No sardonic comebacks, please. Listen to me. You've got to be careful. Act like you're in on the whole thing, but don't stray far from Portland Row. I don't know, plead illness or something. Just don't let Barnes get what he wants- which is, getting into your house- or the ghosts are sure to win."_

I didn't ask how; Sybil had told me so many times that doing something wrong could 'jeopardize the Finality'. I blinked. " _You're_ a ghost. Don't you want your side to reign?"

" _You're forgetting, Lucy, that I too used to be human. When I was alive, I dedicated my life to stopping Visitors from entering through a breach into this world, but I couldn't finish it. That's why I wanted to look into the bone-glass. I needed to know."_

There seemed to be a sudden sucking, pulling sensation, and my vision went fuzzy, and I heard static. I knew, with a jolt, that I was going to wake up. "Wait!" I said.

" _Lucy!"_ Ernest cried, or at least, seemed to. _"Tom Rotwell's descendant."_

"What about him?"

" _One of your cases! He was the ghost in one of your very, very recent cases! That thief who murdered the guy!"_

"What?" Then it dawned on me. "Not the old couple? The Raw-Bones? The one whose Source was a bunch of notes and letters?"

" _He's the descendant! His Source is the key!"_

And I understood. I'd have to stop the papers from being incinerated- that is, if they weren't already.

" _The Source isn't incinerated,"_ the female Visitor said, guessing my thoughts. _"It's scheduled for destruction tomorrow. That's why you've to get there first."_

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. _"I prowl the Headquarters a bit and stalk everyone, I suppose. I have a... Rather strange attachment to the place."_

"Hold on," I said. There was something queer about her. "Who are you?"

She didn't answer, and then everything dissolved into a blinding screen of white light.

But my brain didn't want to wake up yet, so I was greeted by a few more hours of blackness before my eyes opened.

* * *

 **A/N: I told you that I'd start off gradual. On a Locklyle rating, I'd probably give this a 5/10, because it's a slow build-up of cuteness.**

 **Hope you detected the hints, though:** _ **"You look much better when you smile- you're actually very pretty when you smile and laugh." He looked away, slightly embarrassed, trying to cover up. "That's not something I usually say." He reddened, and I could hear him mumble, "that just made it worse."**_

 **And the Lucy bits:** _ **I'd worn it every day, taking it off only before a bath or before bed. It had almost become a part of me; it symbolized my friendship with Lockwood, and how nice he was, so considerate; caring for all of us, even staying up just to give George company when he was home, and I didn't think anyone could be a better friend...**_

 _ **I fell asleep with my hand dangled over the side of the bed, the necklace clutched tightly within my palm.**_

 **Clarification: I am maybe average at these fluffy things, I suppose, but from now it's going to get tricky. Also, I hope you weren't disappointed with the minute amount of Lucewood cuteness in this chapter. But I can't just head full-on into the thing; that's going to be too abrupt.**

* * *

 **REVIEWS:**

 **Celestialite: YESSS! THANK YOU! :D And unfortunately, yes, seriously. These characters can't be introduced in the first two books and then chucked away in the third. XD If, of course, this fanfic is publishing-quality. Even if it were, I can't publish it. Oops.**

 **MehScrewIt: Excited? Well, I'm glad you are! :D And I'm also happy you're taking my idea of the maniacal-typing thing. XD Enjoy being weird...and reading... and whatever... haha.**

 **berryblood: Thanks! :D Hoped you enjoyed the chapter!**

 **ligersrcool: Yeah, thanks! :D And yes, in the previous chapters(specifically, the one about his past) Lockwood mentioned that he'd taken an oath to ridding the world of ghosts, to avenge his family. So you're not wrong there. :)**

 **AnonymousAnon: I'm afraid that you can't avoid the next regret-filled chapter... sorry... I may publish it either a week from now, or the next Saturday, depending upon how long my Writer's Block holds up. And I'm glad you enjoyed the mystery of the folder's notes! Lucy will be reading them again soon, but not immediately. And there is _definitely_ going to be a problem with the L&C/Kipps team rivalry.  
*Whispers* _Action shot._ Hehe! Thanks for the review!**

 **Guest: Agh, the thought of _Kat_ and _Lockwood_ being friends makes me want to throw up... but it's an interesting perspective all the same...  
** **...Hmm, thank you for the interesting idea...  
** **Thanks for the review! Enjoy the Locklyle; there's more coming soon!**

 **Guest(2): Thank you! :D Hope you continue enjoying!**

 **Guest(3): I'm really sorry for killing you with this fic. :( XD Haha, thank you! I'm ecstatic to know that you like this story. And, well... *looks at self* I'm pretty sure I'm not a hella famous British author. XD Thank you so much, though!**

 **LunaMei: Thank you so much! I try making the characters as accurate as possible, even though it's hard work. :) Glad to know it's paying off! Here's an update for you; thanks a bunch! Hope you continue reading, reviewing and enjoying!**

 **GUYSSSSSSSSSSS. I JUST TOPPED MY STATISTICS WITH A SUM TOTAL OF 69 COMMENTS, 9 IN THIS CHAPTER, WHICH IS MY HIGHEST YET; PLUS 2,833 VIEWS. OH MY GOD. THANK. YOU. This boosted my confidence by like 300%!  
I am definitely updating next week, no later than Saturday. Thanks!**

 **-Artemis**


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: *SCREAMS FROM THE TOP OF EVEREST* _I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK  
_ You will not believe how rotten I've been feeling. I kept thinking "gosh, they're all going to sit for God knows how long waiting for me to update" and I genuinely felt like a terrible author. It was so encouraging to see all your reviews, though- they kept me writing. Seriously, thank you so much.  
I HAVE EXAMS starting from October 3rd, and the amount of homework they've been giving us is ENORMOUS. I barely had time to answer my PMs let alone post updates! I had time to write like a paragraph per day. But finally, I've finished, and I'm giving you this.  
I feel terrible about giving you such a sad chapter after a three-week hiatus! But there's nothing much I can do now. ****Grab a pillow, snacks and a bunch of tissues... This isn't going to be pleasant.**

* * *

15

I woke up with a sour taste in my mouth and blinding sunlight in my eyes. My left wrist ached uncontrollably, and my position was not comfortable at all. I realized that I was still clutching the necklace, and worriedly unclenched my fist. No, it was still intact; not damaged by the relentless squeezing of my palm in my sleep. I set it on the table and walked downstairs.

Lockwood was already up- that was a surprise, since I was always the second to wake, and him last. George was in the kitchen, making us breakfast. But instead of the usual bustling and humming, and chirpy welcomes, cheerful 'good mornings', I was greeted with silence.

I examined their faces. Lockwood had rings around his eyes, and he wasn't even holding his mug of tea properly. It dangled loosely in his hand, and was tipping over at a dangerous angle; its contents were close to spilling out.

George didn't look any better; he morosely flipped the pancakes over on the pan. His hair was disheveled and his glasses wonky and dust-coated- he'd had absolutely no time to get ready or correct himself, which was a worrying sight; this was George, the over-perfectionist, organizational-OCD pattern freak.

A wave of sadness washed over me as I surveyed our pitiful conditions. Too much work. Too much to handle.

I just wished it would all _end._

Even though I had the potential to save or destroy everything, and great dangers lay ahead, possibly even death, I was eagerly waiting for the Finality.

I sat down at the table, still unnerved by the quietness.

"What are we doing today, then?" I asked.

"George dug up some pretty relevant information about a few strange cases on Visitors," Lockwood said, his words slurred. "I'm not sure whether we'll be able to even make a dent in this job, though. It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and when we do, we've to move on to the next haystack. It's going to be _bloody impossible."_ He gave an angry growl and slammed his mug down on the table, causing the china to rattle, and hot tea to slosh out onto his wrist, but he didn't even seem to notice.

His sudden anger made me anxious for not the first time in two weeks, but I said nothing. All of us were dealing with our problems, and immense stress. We needed time, we needed rest.

I ate a silent breakfast of pancakes with maple syrup, and refreshed myself with tea. The two of them were discussing the case, but I didn't want to involve myself in the details; I didn't need to worsen my already bad morning.

I walked back up the stairs to my room- realizing I was spending a lot of time alone(typical fangirl XD)- to have a shower. After my bath, I dressed in fresh clothes and walked downstairs.

I sat at the foot of the staircase, close to the kitchen, where Lockwood and George were speaking. I waited for them to come out, for us to leave for our case.

I could heard their muffled voices, and realized with a jolt, alarm bells ringing in my head, what they were talking about.

" _Lockwood, one of those cases I read about..."_

" _What about it?"_

" _Well, it was about a strange ghost that stalked the Fittes Headquarters, and sometimes appeared in an abandoned cottage on the outskirts of London. It nearly killed a few passersby, but for some reason didn't go around lashing wildly like all the usual Type Twos do. It seemed to understand and have a mind of its own."_

" _Yes, that does sound much like our dear Skull. What's so peculiar about it, though?"_

" _The Source was a white mask."_

I sprang up.

Lockwood's voice sounded. _"The white mask as in, the white mask Sybil Audley pointed out to us, saying it would 'come out' soon?"_

" _The same one."_

" _We should inspect it."_

I darted to the shelves, searching them with my eyes. I spotted the glistening object. It seemed as though it were beckoning me urgently to pick it up and hide it.

Which I did, of course.

I snatched it and dashed up to my room once more, tucking it under the bed mattress with the folder.

"Lucy!" Lockwood's voice called. "We've to go now. Kipps just rang us up; he said to meet us outside Fittes Headquarters."

"Coming!" I yelled, and once again ran down to the living room.

I could see Lockwood and George waiting there, but unlike their usual energetic, nervous-energy, impatient behavior everytime before we went exploring, they were dull. Almost as if they _wanted_ me to be late. George was curiously scanning the shelves of artifacts; he didn't see anything. He nudged Lockwood, pointed it out- Lockwood frowned and shook his head, muttering something along the lines of "we'll find it later".

I gave an internal sigh as George opened the door and we stepped out. We hailed a taxi, gave the driver instructions, and sat back.

I sat in the middle, with Lockwood on my left and George on my right. I gave them sideway glances, but they seemed to be looking anywhere but another's direction. George was frazzled, his shirt rumpled and hair a little too floppy. He'd cleaned his glasses, at least, but now his eyes looked dull and tired, not bright with their regular inquisitive gleam.

Lockwood looked scarcely any better, which was saying something, since appearance-wise, both of them were poles apart. His dashingly swept back hair now sagged over his eyebrows, giving him a morose and somber look. His shiny, dark eyes, which used to be lively and glittering, had lost their enchanting spell. I didn't even think he'd ironed his clothes.

And me?

What did I look like? Did I have rings around my eyes, with my hair sticking out and my face puffy? Did I look exhausted and submissive?

This thought sent another shockwave of sorrow through me.

I was lurched out of my thoughts when the cab screeched to a halt. I looked out the window and saw that we'd reached the Fittes headquarters. It was becoming all too sickeningly familiar.

Lockwood paid the driver and we climbed out. Kipps and his pack of goons were waiting by the entrance.

Suppressing the urge to turn back and walk home, or march there and slap all of them, I followed Lockwood and George to where they were standing.

"Tony. Late, as per your norm, I see?" Kipps said, in an almost bored tone, but I could detect the resentment in it.

"Cut the comments, Kipps," George yawned. "What're we to do now?"

"Well, Bobby here has done some research," he said. "Because we know that yours wouldn't exactly be up to the mark." George reddened with anger, and I fought down the urge to kick Kipps in the shins. "There's a library of Archives right down the street, so I decided we should go there."

"Why won't you visit the Fittes Archives?" I asked.

"I thought _you'd_ have the sense to know that ordinary agents aren't allowed in."

"But we-" I began, before Lockwood elbowed me in the ribs and I remembered. _Don't talk about it to anyone. Penelope's secret._

We started down the crowded road, me immersed in my thoughts. But before I descended into full-blown daydreams, a bobbing head in the corner of my vision drew me back.

I turned my head and saw that the bounding figure was nobody but Mary.

A smile slid onto my face, and relief filled me. Maybe Mary had some more good news. Maybe Mary would help my face all this grief and worry-

The grin dropped and my eyes narrowed as I stared at her. Her expression was ashen, her eyes wild. With a start I realized that blood was running down the side of her face.

Despite the noise, despite all the chattering from the hundreds of people around us, I could clearly hear her high-pitched, shrieking voice.

" _Lucy!"_ she screamed, so loudly, that everyone suddenly stopped talking and turned to see who'd shouted. _"WATCH OUT! DON'T TRUST-"_

A single gunshot rang through the air.

And

time

slowed

down.

Everything suspended in that moment as Mary abruptly stopped.

As I saw a crimson flower blossom over her chest.

As she crumpled to the ground,

so

slowly,

That it was almost like time cruelly paused just to savor my stricken reaction.

I ran over to her. I could hear Lockwood yell behind me, but I didn't turn round to look. Voices around me had magnified, resonating in my ears. People were screaming. I could see someone shrieking into a telephone- calling the police, maybe. I dropped to the ground next to her, cradled her head in my arms.

Blood- her blood- thickly coated the whole front of her shirt, and was now spreading even farther. It stained my skirt and my fingers. My hands shook, and adrenaline coursed through my veins.

"Mary-" I choked. "Hold on, you're going to be fine- you'll be okay, just please-"

Trembling, I shakily stood and jerked my head to the side, trying to see who might have fired the gun.

But obviously, I could see nobody but a blur of faces.

The person who'd shot my sister was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

* * *

I sat in the hospital on a chair in a white, white room whose resemblance to the DEPRAC interrogation cell was striking. Lockwood and George sat next to me, clutching my shoulders as I shivered, my chest rising and falling in jerks, shaking uncontrollably.

I'd just had my first anxiety attack, and it hadn't been fun.

But I didn't concentrate on my worrisome condition. The anxiety would fade soon. I was just too afraid. I was too scared what the doctors would say about

 _MaryMaryMaryMaryMaryMary_

She'd been rushed to the emergency room moments after the ambulance had frenzily drove into the campus, carrying three medics, three stricken agents, and one very, very badly injured victim. We'd blown through the doors, but Lockwood, George and I couldn't get through to the surgery room, where they must have tried to hook her up to various medical instruments and remove the bullet.

A doctor had emerged for a minute, just to give us an update.

" _Someone hit her on the side of the head, which was why there was blood on her face. And she was shot from the front,"_ he had said. _"The person must have had excellent aim to pick her out amongst roughly two hundred people. But we're lucky- she wasn't hit in the heart. We're doing everything we can!"_

Something was extremely off about the situation.

From the way she'd looked, she had probably been running from someone. And since she was running _towards_ us from someone, and a person had shot her from _ahead_ of us, more than one killer had been chasing her.

This thought had flitted through my mind on the way to the hospital, but now I could think of nothing else.

I knew I should try to look on the good side of things- it wasn't an assassin, or a serial killer. Only one person got hurt.

But it is kind of hard to do that when the one family member who still loves you is close to death.

 _Why Mary?_

 _She's innocent._

 _She had no part in this._

And as soon as I thought _that_ cheerful fact, I burst into tears and dissolved myself in my own puddle of misery, dropping to the floor. Lockwood had immediately caught me and enveloped me in his strong arms, and I'd clung on, crying my heart out, grief pouring out through every heartbroken sob. Later, he'd told me that it hurt him as well, listening to me so upset, thinking that nothing he'd say could make it better.

So all I could do, sitting in the deadly silent whitewashed room, with George anxiously inquiring about her every three seconds, and me clutching Lockwood, and him clutching back, was to wait.

 _Wait._

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for like the 80% grief and 20% Locklyle! I'd planned to put all the worry and tension in one chapter, but then I figured it would get too long.** **I think you could detect that *OBVIOUS* shipping in the last two paragraphs.  
Guys. I'm really sorry for the abrupt break. I'm going to give you a heads-up now- I will not be updating again for another two weeks, that is, until 10th October or so. But please continue reading; after my exams end it'll be regular again.  
**

* * *

 **ligersrcool: Thank you! :D Your fanfics are great, you'll get better as you keep writing. I enjoy them, for one!  
**

 **arael205ar: You're not slow at all... from that guess, you've caught up quite well. I'm not going to verify any assumptions, though, because it'll ruin the suspense. :) Thanks!**

 **Guest: YAY LOCKLYLE! XD Sorry that there wasn't much in this chapter. Thanks for the review!**

 **Ellievator: Thank you so much! Yeah, I'm pretty nervous-excited writing all the Locklyle. I hope I can pull it off well. :) Thanks for the review!**

 **Guest(Thals Wayward): I know, right? I don't know when I'll overcome it, or if I even get the time to! D:  
Thanks! :D I enjoy fluff too. Always the best!  
And you're welcome! Sorry for the late update; hope you continue enjoying, thanks for the review, and for waiting!**

 **Guest: I know, right? XD Awkward Lockwood is so cute. Only I'm drifting a bit OOC there, so I've to be careful. I'm not saying anything about character deaths, though, from now on. Guesses are the things you'll have to run on!  
Haha, thanks! Kat Godwin _would_ make a perfect vampire, I think. Hmm, maybe I should write an L&C AU on that... XD Sorry about the Writer's Block, I'm trying to beat it. Thank you! ^.^  
**

 **Execution Without a Head: Thank you so much! I'm glad about that. Thanks for the idea; I'll certainly bear that in mind. :) I'll introduce some bromance asap! Oh, P.S- THE HOLLOW BOY'S OUT! READ IT! Just... don't tell me any spoilers. :( XD**

 **Silently Singing: ooh, that's a good guess! You're close to it! Thanks! :)  
**

 **Ashley: Thank you so much, that really made my day! :D Please convey my gratitude to the friend who recommended it; that was nice. Have a nice weekend! Thanks for reading!**

 **HunterofArtemis: Thank youuu! Tell your friend I said thanks for recommending the fic, it was super nice of her! Thanks for the positive remarks; hope you enjoyed the story so far, have a nice weekend!**

 **Bookworm: YAAS, coming up soon!**

 **nicky: Thanks for the review; that boosted my spirits. I think this was the review that pushed me to write. Well, here's an update, and the next will be approximately two weeks from now. Hope you enjoy reading, thank you, have a great day! :D**

 **radiobeans: Thank you so so so much! That was so nice of you to say! I'll work on making the roles nuanced; thank you for the suggestions! And yeah, I just really loved the name Esperanza, so I incorporated it into the story. It's fitting and unfitting at the same time. XD Thank you so much, again!**

* * *

 **So, guys, once again, I'm tremendously sorry! *Holds up two fingers* Two weeks. October 10th. You can wait there with pitchforks if you'd like.**

 **Just... *Awkwardly moves into the shadows* don't kill me.**

 **-Artemis**


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: Another week, another chapter... as promised. Here you guys go.  
** **It is more of a filler than a chapter, because it goes through all this grief. Nevertheless, it is an exceedingly important part, because next she's got to go through the 5 stages of grief. But she'll get better soon! There's no doubt about that. I'm sorry that this fic has taken such a dark turn; it'll righten to a more mysterious, action-packed one soon. Just not yet.**

* * *

16

It's sort of funny and strange, how time speeds up when you're happy, so your enjoyment gets over quick.

And how it slows down when you're grieving, or waiting.

For me, the seconds dragged to a halt, almost freezing everything in place, as I slowly, painfully dropped to the ground in the waiting room. Sound decreased. Lights flashed epileptically in my eyes. I could see, through the slurred wave of time, Lockwood sluggishly taking a step towards me...

...as my knees hit the floor. My hands shielded my face as I openly sobbed, my heart shattering into a million fragments as I registered the six piercing words of the nurse, the two sentences stabbing me in the chest.

" _I'm sorry._

 _She didn't make it."_

After two hours of waiting, two hours of desperately hoping, that if there was some God up there, then maybe he'd spare my sister. After all this time, blindly being led by faith, for these horrid news to be delivered to my ears.

Life.

Isn't.

Fair.

I really couldn't believe it.

In a family, no, you're not supposed to have favorites. You're not supposed to choose your mother over your father or your brother over your sister. But you can't deny that favorites are sort of hard to _not_ have. And for me, Mary was the only person whom I actually considered family.

And now she was dead.

My best sister, dead. And I hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Thoughts and memories flashed through my head, my own emotions interfering with my psychic abilities, causing ripples of thought to flick in front of my eyes like flipped pages of a book. I heard delicate laughter, excited shouts, saw two sisters jumping into a puddle in the rain, two sisters reading a book together by candlelight... And now that impenetrable duo had become one.

I could feel something cold under my palms, and realized that my hands were now on the hard floor.

I could also feel two pairs of arms around me. I opened my eyes, and through bleary vision, could see a nurse on my right, talking animatedly to me with eyes round as dishplates, but whatever she was saying was gibberish and I couldn't hear her anyway-

" _Lucy,"_ said someone on my left. "Calm down. You're _hyperventilating_."

I inclined my head slightly and noticed that the speaker was actually Lockwood, who was crouching next to me. Even when he was kneeling he was at least a head taller than me. He was staring at me with this worried expression, that on normal occasions I'd have found adorable(but would have been reproachful if he'd directed it towards anyone else) but now I really couldn't care less. I was just relieved that my best friend was here, and that eased the pain a little. Very little, but at least some of it.

I forced myself to take slow but deep gulps of air as Lockwood and the nurse made me lean back against the wall with my head tilted up. I looked at the starch-white ceiling and tried to clear my mind, but it was already blank. Already devoid of emotion, except just pain, pain, pain.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and even that simple action took an enormous amount of effort. I heard George ask the nurse in a hushed voice to give us a minute alone; her whispering her consent, and her soft footsteps and the click of the door being closed. And then George was at my side too, and was hugging me as well, and I was just surrounded by four arms and sobbing my heart out, but at least I was releasing all my sorrow, and at least _that_ relieved me of _something._

And then it felt like I'd been through a time skip, because suddenly my head cleared of the agony, and I was left staring upwards, boring a hole into the roof with my eyes. There was a lump in my throat I couldn't get rid of, and Lockwood's and George's choke-holds were rather suffocating, but they were the only things that still tied me to sanity.

And the nurse suddenly reappeared, and though my ears were ringing, I could hear her ask me in a muffled voice, as though she were speaking through cotton in a tunnel, _"Do you want to see her?"_ and I numbly nodded- although later, I wondered _why_ I nodded.

The next few minutes seemed to fast-forward; I remember shakily standing up, Lockwood and George supporting me, clutching my shoulders protectively, and I took a few weak steps forward. Soon I was walking down the hallway, doctors who'd been trying to save _her_ giving me worried and sympathetic sideways glances. The nurse opened a door and stood aside, allowing me entrance. Lockwood and George wisely stayed out, giving me some privacy.

The curtains were drawn, and the door was half-shut behind me, so the only reason I could see in the dimness was because of the bright scissorblades of light streaking through the cracks in the doorway behind me. They cascaded on the floor, dancing in intricate patterns across the glossy marble tiling, and highlighted one side of my sister's face.

My heart lurched as I stepped forward towards the bed.

Mary's expression was hard to interpret. In the ambulance, all along the ride, her face had been deathly pale, and her features contorted into a twisted look of utter agony. But most probably they'd given her anesthetics, to ease the pain, so she'd relaxed. Now it looked exactly like she was sleeping, and was about to launch into a nightmare, but she still looked peaceful, as though she knew there was a forthcoming nightmare and was ready for it. She was still as white as a sheet, all traces of blood drained from her face. Her eyes were closed, her ebony hair spread tangled on the sheets. There was a white cloth that covered her from her neck till her ankles; it was fresh and crisp, but I knew if I removed it I'd see a dark, black-red stain on her dress- blood that didn't stain the sheet. My legs shook and my hands trembled as I looked at her one last time.

"Goodbye," I whispered, my voice cracking, and with shaking fingers, pulled the cloth over her head as well.

And then I sank to my knees, and the remains of my childhood crumbled and was whisked away by grief.

* * *

I was at Portland Row, and thoroughly miserable.

Lockwood and George had been standing outside the room, and on hearing me cry out, had barged in and immediately come to my side. The alarmed nurse poked her head in and then dragged me to a vacant room, no questions asked. I'd been diagnosed with emotional trauma and had been made to stay in bed for three hours until I, scowlingly, argued that I was _very much fine_ (a lie),and I just needed rest.

We'd driven back to Portland Row in a cab. My lip had been quivering the whole trip, and it took all my might to divert my attention from the horrendous incident that just occurred. When we'd reached home, however, and I stood on the porch where Mary'd been standing just a few days ago, I dissolved into a puddle of tears once again.

Instantly, they'd helped me out, leading me to the living room and making me lie down on the couch, my head resting on one of the pillows. They'd sat by my side, saying soothing things which I really didn't pay attention to, as I looked away from them with tears rolling down my cheeks, leaving even more tear marks on my face. Soon, when I closed my eyes, the amount of pent-up exhaustion came crashing down on my head. But sleep didn't come to me. The tiredness and grief seemed to make my mind run actively in circles, and I kept saying gibberish which I don't remember even now. Nothing was there to calm my mind, to put me to rest. I felt like I was going to _die,_ and with the way I was feeling, I didn't mind it either. The corners of my vision began to blacken, like somebody was burning away my sight like paper, and then a fist of blackness slammed into my face severing my connection with sanity-

-I woke up to the sound of deep, calm breathing and a hollow emptiness inside me. I opened my eyes which were nearly glued shut from tears. I blinked wearily to notice three things- 1, I was lying on the couch with a pillow behind my head, tucked in with blankets, 2, Lockwood was slumped in a chair right next to me, fast asleep, and 3, my hand was held loosely in his, as if he'd clung on while trying to get me to calm down. Very carefully, trying not to wake him, I sat up and pulled back my hand. Apparently he was a light sleeper, because he stirred and blinked. He noticed me awake and instantly sat up properly.

"Lucy," he said, and there was clearly detectable anxiety in his voice. "How are you?"

I opened my mouth and tried to speak but it felt like my vocal cords had been ripped out. I was finally able to rasp, "Not great," in a hoarse tone.

"I mean physically," he said.

Why? What was wrong with me? I hadn't...

"You hyperventilated," Lockwood said, and he was struggling to keep his voice level. "You started breathing real shallow, and you couldn't get past the shock. You kept saying weird things, and you tried to get out of bed. You said you wanted to go to DEPRAC and talk to the Skull. We had to do everything to get you to calm down, and finally you just fell asleep." I noticed now that his hair was disheveled and his eyes swollen.

I didn't think I looked much better, though.

"I'm sorry," I said shakily, feeling as though I was going to drown in hopelessness. "I'm burdening you so much, I-"

"It's not your fault," Lockwood cut in. "Come on, let's get you upstairs. You need to freshen up and just go to bed. You're too tired to do anything." He helped me up, led me to the staircase slowly with one arm around my shoulders to support me. One of my arms clutched his coat as I sluggishly moved up the steps. I didn't remember the last time I had ever experienced something like this. Oh, wait, that's right. I never had. The last bit of bland humor I had left told me that somebody needed to teach me how to walk. A delirious laugh bubbled up inside me, but it was more out of necessity than out of actual emotion. I just needed to release. But I didn't let the laugh out; it would stress Lockwood even more than he already was.

After what felt like forever, I reached my room. I managed to grab a pair of PJs from my closet before disappearing into the bathroom and having a long, scalding hot shower. There I cried as the water dripped down my face, but it made me feel marginally better. I rinsed myself of all the sweat and dirt and tears and tiredness before slipping into my pajamas. I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked bulbous, and my face was red and blotchy. So I washed my face again, but it had little effect. Still, I felt _clean,_ which was essentially what I had come up here for.

I walked out of the bathroom to see Lockwood still sitting on the bed. He looked up when I emerged.

"Feel any better?" he asked.

I nodded. This wasn't a complete lie. I had suddenly remembered how to walk, so that was a plus.

He got up. "You'd better sleep some more," he said quickly. I walked over and lay down, the familiarity of the covers comforting me as I snuggled in. I looked at the clock- it was already 3 in the afternoon.

Lockwood moved towards the door.

"Lockwood?" My voice turned out to be pitchy and a little desperate.

He turned. "Yeah?"

I struggled not to cry. "Thank you so much, for everything." I felt that these words really weren't enough, and my voice cracked halfway through, but he seemed to understand.

He gave me a smile, a soothing one, the one that told me he'd always be here. "For you, Luce," he said, "Anything."

And he walked out.

I shut my eyes again, listening to the sound of his receding footsteps, and soon there was silence. And the quiet brought with it the heartbreaking sense of being alone.

* * *

I awoke somewhere around 6 pm, with blue evening light streaming like confetti into my bedroom, as if trying to cheer up my surroundings. I felt a sudden surge of irritation at the sun. Why did it have to be so cheerful? Nothing was cheerful about today. About this whole week, in fact.

Wait, why was I so angry?

And then I remembered everything, and my annoyance was replaced with a wave of angst that pounced on my back and clung on like a heavy load.

I refused to cry. No. I tried to take my mind off it by trying out a smile which didn't work at all, so instead I sprang up and walked towards the door.

I poked my head out of the room. The lovely scent of waffles wafted up and tickled my nose. I could hear the clink of china and the hiss of water, meaning somebody was making tea. George was working his magic in the kitchen again.

I moved to the staircase and peered at the dining table on the floor below, but I couldn't see Lockwood. "Hi," I said as loud as possible. My voice didn't feel the need to be exercised at the moment.

George nearly dropped the plate he was holding, and jerked his head upwards. "Oh, Luce! You're up!"

"Where's Lockwood?" I asked, almost skipping down the stairs.

He turned and saw me a few metres away from him, and to my surprise he was smirking.

"What's that sneer for?" I frowned.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he said cheerfully. My frown deepened.

"Where's Lockwood?" I repeated.

The smile slid off his face. "He went to Scotland Yard. He's doing everything he can to catch the murderers."

A strange burst of an unrecognizable emotion surged through me. I couldn't quite understand what it was. "He did that?" I asked, touched.

"Yeah. He just drank a cup of tea and left." George shook his head in disbelief. "I told him not to, especially with such a hectic schedule and all the press, but he was indignant." The smirk was back again.

I sighed and walked back up to my room to get ready. All through when I was freshening up, I thought about Lockwood. How considerate he was, how he was trying to help me and protect me and care for all of us all at once...

...And then I remembered how much _I'd_ betrayed him, by lying on and on, and keeping secrets from him, by _snooping_ and _prying into his life._

That was when I realized.

I couldn't take the grief and guilt.

I couldn't go on like this.

If I did, then I would break. I'd lose myself.

And I'd jeopardize everything.

 _I would mess up, and take everybody down with me._

I was now dressed in my agent clothes that boosted my confidence a little. But I was even more worried than before.

With mixed feelings of anxiety, helplessness, sheer grief and crushing guilt, I walked down the staircase once more to have those delicious-looking snacks George was making.

* * *

 **A/N: So. Not a very happy chapter, is this.  
I have exams this week as well, so the next update is PROBABLY going to be on 24th. I'm sorry about that! But there's not much I can do.  
Next chapter is again the last chapter in Enigma. And then comes Part 4, and Locklyle...  
...And the mystery unraveling.  
**

* * *

 **ViolaFlute: Thank you! Guaranteed Locklyle in Part 4, don't worry. And good luck for your exams!**

 **Wolfhowl: Oh my gosh. Thanks _so_ much! I know, the strain and pressure is like 100x worse during exams. Ugh. And you guessed right- Mary dies. Aaaaah! D: I'm really proud to be an inspiration! I think you should really go for writing your fanfic! And tell me if you publish one, I'd love to read it! Thank you so much for telling your friends. Gosh, I feel so honored now XD That's really, really incredible to hear. Have a nice week!**

 **Nemaides: XD Thank you so much! I feel pretty uplifted now. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! And yeah, I just read _the Hollow Boy_ yesterday and was pretty much shocked out of my socks. If Locklyle doesn't happen in Book 4... D: Well, thank you again! :D**

 **Thals: Thank youuuuuuuu! I just read _the Hollow Boy_ and I screamed after finishing it, alright? XD But I'm not going to include any spoilers from that one in this. I'm so sorry for giving you that grief D: It's essential, but I still feel terrible. And no, the Orpheus Society doesn't come in the first two books(I should know; I've read them both like 6 times) but it does appear in THB. Thanks for the review; hope you enjoy/enjoyed Book 3, because I did. But man, I was shocked. God. **

**HunterofArtemis: Thank you so much! If there's two things I'm always worried about they're describing my surroundings and going OOC. Glad to see I'm doing neither. I think you've got some pretty good guesses, and they're not very wrong, either. :D Thank you!**

 **Execution Without a Head: OH MY GOD. AFIRE LOVE? THAT'S LIKE GRIEF++ That is a bad combination. Thank you so much! I'm hoping you're not going to kill me for more grief in this chapter. Oops. And you're welcome, I always love answering comments, especially long ones. I hope you manage to get your hands on a copy soon, or find an ebook somewhere; that book is really worth reading. Although it's tiny compared to the previous two. Awwww, that's so nice of you! Thanks so much. That's really nice of you to say. Gosh this comment is a bundle of happiness**

 **Celestialite: YEEEEEESS  
sorry D: **

**ligersrcool: XD You're welcome  
...Well... she did**

 **radiobeans: I love suspense XD Sorry about all the angst! Thank you for wishing me luck- I need it (shudder) Hope you enjoy the rest of the story. p.s I'm Asian too :D Thank you for the review!**

* * *

 **GUYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYS (PLEEEEEEEASE READ THIS)**

 **I READ THE HOLLOW BOY**

 **SO. GOOD.**

 **But it was tiny compared to the first two books! And when I finished it I was _so done_ that I wrote a very feel-y, expressive rant that I almost published XD I didn't though.**

 **It also opened up a billion possibilites for fanfics.**

 **So I'm going to write ANOTHER fanfic on the sequel to Book 3.  
**

 **But I'm not going to include book 3 spoilers in this fic so don't worry.**

 **I think I'll be able to get the new fic up only after I finish this because I don't think I can juggle more than one piece of literature with my schedule. But I think maybe I can drop a Chapter 1 and leave that fic until I finish this.**

 **Whaddya think?**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy, and wait for the 24th!**

 **-Artemis**

 **P.S _LONGEST. A/N. EVER. OH MY GODS_.**


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm late! But at least I updated, right? XD  
Second term starts for me in two days. I feel horrible now. I'd better get on to writing more...**

 **OOOOOOOOOH AND I PUBLISHED A NEW L &C FANFIC WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THB. I doubt it'll be as good as this one.**

 **CLIFFIE ALERT**

* * *

17

I was sitting up in bed, feeling incredibly bored.

Lockwood and George had already left, and I was alone at home.

Lockwood had insisted that I stay home to cope with the emotional trauma. He and George would go along with Kipps and his team to find any possible Sources for Type Threes. They were doing this because a DEPRAC team was working with them as well, and they could work side-by-side and try to find out about Mary's murderer too.

I felt rather useless cooped up in the house, but there was a plus- now Barnes couldn't search our house when we were gone. I had imagined Barnes picking the lock on our door, sauntering up the steps, pushing open the door and entering the Forbidden Room... No. I'd quickly nodded my head. My lack of protests and tantrums surprised Lockwood, making him slightly confused and even a bit suspicious. But he'd probably blamed it on my tiredness, thinking I was too drained to disagree, and he and George had left after giving me firm instructions to rest.

I lay down and turned to the side, and something under me pressed into the boards of the bed and gave a squeak of protest. I pushed myself up, frowning, and checked under it.

The mask.

And the folder.  
Oh.

I quickly pulled both of them out.

First, I inspected the mask. It was plain and white, with an opening for the mouth and two narrow eye sockets. It was made of a grainy material that caused light to bounce off the uneven surface, making it look glittery. It was really very delicate and pretty.

I clasped it in my hands, staring down at it, wondering exactly how it could be a Type Three. I wanted to test it for psychic traces, but that would take too long. I'd get to the important stuff first.

I then looked through the folder once more. I flipped over to the last section, since I'd already seen the first ones(or glanced through).

 _Part 3: Speculations and Theories_

 _Nolan 'Gravedigger' Sykes had several theories on the Other Place. He regularly pored over books and files concerning the tendencies and nature of Visitors. An inquisitive man, he would constantly talk to Listeners about any extravagant cases they'd encountered, eagerly searching to see if he could find a Type Three. Sometimes he even visited cemeteries and graveyards to find ghosts, and when they did appear, he would(after given the authority) unearth the remains and study them to make visible the link between Sources and the Other Place, hence earning him the title 'Gravedigger'.  
He was never able to establish concrete theories, however, since he neither had any experience with higher-level ghosts nor had he been able to confirm their existence. He now lives in Herondale Ave, where he continues to do small research about Visitors.  
_

I sprang upwards.

What if I visited Gravedigger Sykes?

What if he had guessed everything that was going to happen?

I grabbed my coat and yanked on my boots, shoving the file under my mattress once again. But this time, as I grabbed a satchel and put my purse in, I stuffed in the mask as well. Maybe Sykes could help me on _that_ one as well.

Herondale Ave. I wasn't too far away from it; I could just take a taxi there...

With renewed enthusiasm, I bounded down the steps, the bag slapping against my side.  
I reached the landing and stopped when I heard a sharp click and saw the front door's knob turn.

I threw the satchel aside onto the couch and hurried to the door. I opened it before the person on the other side could.

Of course, it was Barnes. I'd expected as much, actually.

"Inspector Barnes," I said as emotionlessly as I could.

"Ms. Carlyle," he said, his face suddenly flushing with color. "I- the door was ajar. I decided to let myself in. Check on how you were doing."

I stood aside to let him in.

"I'm alright, I suppose," I said.

"So where are Mr. Lockwood and Mr. Cubbins?" he asked, scanning the house.

"They went to finish the assignment you forced on them." I was making no effort to be polite.

His face turned a shade redder- from embarrassment, anger or awkwardness, I didn't know. He cleared his throat. "So you didn't go with them?"

"No, they thought it best if I stayed and rested."

"So you're going to be here in the house the whole day?" he asked.

"Yes, definitely," I said, putting in all the emphasis I could into the two words. "Maybe even for the rest of the week."

"Oh, I see." He shifted uncomfortably. "Well... I must be going now, Ms. Carlyle. Have a nice day."

"Thanks." I said bluntly, letting him out.

I watched him from the window, seeing him retreat sulkily down the street.

As soon as he was out of sight, I snatched the satchel from the couch again and walked out. He had nicely picked the lock-with what I didn't know. I bolted the door behind me, shoving the key in the bag. I ran ahead up the street, hailed a taxi and got in.

"Herondale Ave, please," I said.

Now I needn't have to worry about Barnes coming back. He thought I'd be in the house for the rest of the week, which gave me plenty of time to figure out everything going on.

I had an opportunity.

And there was no way in hell I wasn't taking it.

* * *

I took a deep breath, adjusted my skirt and my hair. I gazed at the shut door, hesitantly raising my arm, running through all the things that could go wrong in there.

1\. Sykes going crazy and kicking me out  
2\. Sykes ringing up Lockwood about my visit  
3\. Me jeopardizing the Finality

But then again, if everything went alright, then

1\. I could solve a lot more problems  
2\. I could uncover secrets that could probably save my life and everybody else's.

All in a day's work, wasn't it?

I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled, and rapped thrice, hard, on the mahogany door.

I waited, counting the seconds.

Seven, eight, nine-

The door swung open to reveal a man at least four inches taller than me, with dark brown hair and green-blue eyes. He wore black framed spectacles that were perched low on his nose, with a nicely tailored suit. He radiated power and dominance, but he also looked rather ordinary- a very sophisticated sort of ordinary.

"Mr. Sykes?" I asked.

His brows furrowed as he frowned down at me. "That's me," he said. "And you are?"

"Well," I hesitated for a moment, then realized there was no point in leaving now. "I'm Lucy Carlyle, from-"

"Oh, yes, Lockwood & Co.," he said, waving a hand as if to dismiss me. "I've heard a bit about you. Something about Combe Carey. I don't read the papers much anymore, but I can remember."

"Uh..." I was at a loss for words, then composed myself. "Well, I've come here because I've got some information that might interest you, and I need your help."

"If it's about some bloody interview on my work, then I don't want to hear it." He began to close the door, but I shoved my foot in the gap between it and the doorframe, stopping it. He looked at me, confused and annoyed.

"No," I said. "It's nothing like that. It's..."

No stopping now.

I cleared my throat. "I'm a Listener. And I've spoken to Type Threes."

His head jerked upwards. He'd been listening with bored indifference for the most part, but now his wide eyes shone with wonder and curiosity. He looked like a man who'd seen too much but still wanted to know more; he seemed like a person with a thirst for knowledge, and I knew he and George would get along well.

"Well," he said hoarsely, " _that_ changes everything."

* * *

Five minutes later, we sat on opposite sides of his mahogany dining table, in front of steaming cups of tea. I fidgeted with my skirt, feeling nervous under his inquisitive gaze. He had been babbling rapid-fire theories ever since I walked through the doorway, and was now breathing heavily, face flushed, and extremely eager to ask me questions.

"This is vexing," he said. "In all my years, I have _never_ met a Listener who's ever even come _close_ to encountering a Type Three, and you appear saying you've _spoke_ to one. What makes you think I'll believe you?"

Believe me? Believe my stupid theories on everything? I could barely believe _myself._ How could I convince _him?_

But there was a lot at stake here. I couldn't mess up; I shouldn't even _think_ of messing up.

"I know what it feels like," I said slowly. "We were in possession of a skull in a jar, which we'd _thought_ to be a Type Two, but one day I accidentally opened the bung on the top of the silver-glass, and it spoke to me, in perfect, clear sentences. I realized then that it was a Type Three. The sensation is... It's hard to describe. For one moment, you're curious and eager to speak to it. But the next, all you want to do is get away from it. Ghosts like those can drive you insane."

Sykes was looking at me, narrow-eyed. I continued.

"They can tell you things you want to hear in the first moment, and in the next they can twist your mind and tell you horrid things- things that make you doubt yourself, and the people around you. They're really dangerous. Somebody- I don't know who- leaked the information of the Source to DEPRAC, and now it's sitting there in Headquarters." I leaned back, took a sip of tea, avoided his eyes. "They're manipulative and evil, and want to kill us all, but we won't be able to know anything about ghosts without them. They know way too much."

There was a long pause.

"Do you read the written accounts of Marissa Fittes, Ms. Carlyle?" asked Sykes.

"No."

"That's exactly how she described the sensation."

I blinked rapidly. "So..."

"So what do you think?"

I looked up. "Think about what?"

"About ghosts in general. And the Other Place."

I knew I shouldn't be saying so much. Ernest warned me not to. But I couldn't stop the words from spilling from my mouth. "The Skull told me something about 'death in life and life in death'. It stated that death is already in life, but life still has to enter death, and only then will it be balanced, or else either side would dominate the other."

That wasn't _exactly_ what it had said- I was mixing up accounts of it and the mask. "What do you feel about that?" I aske.

"I think what it means is that 'death' or Visitors are already present in the realm of the living- that is, this world," Sykes said, rubbing his temples. "But for there to be a balance between both sides, the living- _humans-_ needs to enter the world of the dead, also known as the Other Place. If that happens, then there's going to be an equilibrium, but as of now, the scale is tipped. And if it keeps tipping, ghosts are going to dominate us all."

"Oh." I said. I wanted to punch myself- the answer had been in front of my face all along. "Oh."

"But the question is... How do we do that?" He frowned. "Ms. Carlyle, will you help me out with something?" he stood up, walking into another room.

"Of course," I said, getting to my feet and hurrying after him.

"I don't think Marissa Fittes died of age. I think she was ghost-touched."

"Why do you say that?" I asked. I'd known this already, so it came as no shock, but I still wanted to hear _how._ We were passing through room after room- his house was _huge._

"When she was found in her room in the morning by her maid, her eyes were closed- but when they opened her lids her eyes were glassy, and were tinted slightly blue. You don't see that in people who pass away, do you?" he asked. "And her skin was _papery._ It had no color anymore. It was _also_ tinged slightly blue, as if all her blood had drained away."

"But why did people think she died naturally, then?" I asked, trying to keep up. He was a fast walker.

"Because I'm guessing she was asleep, and hence didn't react. It Touched her in her sleep. The ghost did so sapped away so much of her energy that she reached that stage, without swelling up or anything. But I think she's a ghost now. She never finished the task she'd set out to do- to finding out the answers to all of this. And," he said, "She was never seen without having a certain possession closeby all the time. She even had it clutched in her hands when sleeping. And I think that's her Source. It's all a wild guess, but then you _do_ have exceptions when the Source isn't the bones. Take your Annabelle Ward case."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying-" he turned round to face me. I'd never seen such liveliness, not even in Lockwood. "I think she's a ghost- a Type Three, the ones most ardent and most driven, the ones most _intelligent_. And I think the 'Source' I obtained from the Fittes emporium is _hers._ And I'd like you to talk to it."

"Alright," I said. "What do you think is the Source?"

We finally stopped at the entrance of a room. He walked in slowly and pointed at a table.

What I saw on it sent a shock tingling down my spine, raising the hairs on my arms and my neck.

"This," he said, picking up a glinting object.

But I knew it wasn't the Source.

Because the Source he thought was Marissa Fittes' was probably an ordinary object. _I_ had the real piece.

Nolan Sykes was holding up a shiny white mask.

* * *

 **A/N: PREPARE YOURSELF FOR A LONG REVIEW REPLY  
105 reviews, 5,445 views... *dies from shock* I never expected this to happen osdjdkbfzdnvsjj I feel so happy**

* * *

 **Nemaides: I feel bad for putting so much stress on her. But then again, in the series so did Stroud...**

 **KiyiyaTheHowlingWolf: I have to say this again: THANK YOU SO MUCH. You're welcome, and thank YOU for being such a nice, awesome reader! :D**

 **Celestialite: You're welcome! :D Love ya too XD And yes I hope book 4 is really long**

 **Thals: Yeah! And I'm sorry, but I'm also happy you liked the chapter. (ARTEMIS AND CO: FEELS ARE OUR BUSINESS.) Well this will be the last part of Enigma and then there's a lot of... weird panicky stuff. Hhahha  
I'M PUTTING THE PROLOGUE OF THAT FANFIC UP RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY  
Yes! I love PJO as well! In fact, I got to know of Lockwood & Co. through Rick Riordan. I love Artemis, she's my favorite Greek Goddess apart from Hestia. :) Forgot to mention- you have a Tumblr? Ooh tell me your username!  
AND YES THE KAT/KATE THING screwed with my head for a whole ten minutes. Is Kat a nickname for Kate or something? I have no clue**

 **ligersrcool: THANK YOU! :'D**

 **Execution Without A Head: I see this comment and I die of happiness. THANKYOUU  
LUCEWOOD ALERT IN PART 4! I'll keep that in mind. I have to add _Lucewood fluff_ to my very long checklist.  
Thank you so much, again! Hope you enjoyed reading!**

 **Guest: Thank you! :D  
** **Guest(is this the same person I dunno XD): WELL YOUR QUESTION HAS BEEN ANSWERED. Nice guessing!**

 **Ellievator: I know right! I love George so much. After reading THB, he's become my favorite!  
AND THANK YOU SO MUCH ;-; **

**HunterofArtemis: You're welcome! :D I love replying to comments, especially the ones written by nice, excited people. Thank you so much once again, this comment means a lot to me. *Sends virtual hug* Have a nice day!**

 **Guest: THANK YOUUUUU sorry for the wait! AND YES, MAPS ARE THE WORST PART OF EXAMS. BLEURGH. From now on seven-day updates are back, so that's a plus. Thanks again, hope you enjoy the rest of the story! :)**

* * *

 **LUCEWOOD FLUFF UPCOMING  
I WILL UPDATE EVERY SATURDAY FROM NOW ON  
PART 4 NEXT UPDATE  
PART 4 CENTERS MORE ON CRIMES THAN ON GHOSTS AND STUFF. LOTS OF ACTION  
HOPE YOU ENJOY  
SORRY FOR CAPS LOCK**

 **Oh, and I published a new Lockwood and Co fanfic called 'Dead Men Walking'. I'm not asking for favors or anything, but I'd be the happiest person on the planet if you checked it out. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **-Artemis**


	19. Transcendence- Chapter 18

**A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I'M SOSOSOSOSO SORRY...  
** **Yes, some three-week hiatus or so without any warning?** **I know that no excuse I give can make you feel any less irritated, but I might as well explain:  
** **I've been getting no time to write and I haven't been feeling good lately- about my school, the planet and about myself. I am under a lot of pressure now, but I had to post sometime so I just had to suck it up and write. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and thank you for the 6.5K views and tons of comments- they make me feel a lot better. Thanks, once again, and I'm really sorry, and please enjoy!  
**

 **PART 4 WOOOOOOOOO**

* * *

Transcendence

18

"Are you sure you're alright, Ms. Carlyle?" Sykes asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," I muttered, feeling miserably embarrassed.

I'm ashamed to say I had blacked out instantly after the incident. I was getting more and more annoyed with myself. My Talent was getting more and more unstable- it was becoming a kind of liability. It was messing up my emotional state too.

"What exactly happened?" he asked. "What was so shocking about seeing the mask that made you lose consciousness? It could be because of a psychic aura, but we've never had incidents like that before-"

"No," I interrupted, and then paused. Should I really tell him? I was treading on dangerous waters here. If I revealed all that I knew, and if Sykes wasn't on my side, then I'd destroy everything.

Everything.

Sybil had warned me to only trust her, Mary, George and Ernest. But I didn't know if I could trust Sybil herself. She could've been Mary's killer. She could be trying to manipulate me. She could be the one who was against Penelope Fittes- she couldn't deny the photo evidence.

I didn't know whether my quest in looking for answers had become a success, or a failure dressed as a success.

Well, sometimes people had to take risks.

"No," I said again. "I blacked out because I- that's not the real mask. _I_ have the real one."

He looked up sharply, staring into the depths of my soul with his green-blue eyes. _"What?"_

I reached for my satchel and silently pulled it out.

He stared at it, breathless.

"Ms. Carlyle," he said slowly, finally, "do you realize exactly how much this could solve?"

"Solve?" I asked quizically. "Solve what, how?"

"Everything. Everything about the Other Place." his eyes shone with liveliness and spirit; he seemed so ardent. I knew at once where Lockwood got his passion from.

"You've got to detect echoes from it."

I looked at him. He had hope written all over his face, and I could only think of how long he'd been waiting for answers; how many years. I had to help him out- he was helping me too.

"Sure," I said. But, at the same time, I couldn't help thinking, _what am I doing?_

"Perfect!" My mind was filled with trepidation, even though I was seeing such joy in his eyes. There was a knot in my stomach.

"Now, from what I've speculated, trying to extract echoes from the Sources of Type Threes can be dangerous. The stronger the ghost is, the more emotion is attached to their Sources. And Type Threes, which are the strongest and smartest of all... Well, I don't think it'll do good to just lose yourself in them. So I'm going to try something."

I waited for him to continue.

"You have to hold the mask with one hand and concentrate, while I hold your other hand. This helps you Listen as well as keep yourself grounded. Alright?"

I nodded. This was exciting, like a mystery being unveiled, but I couldn't deny the fact that I was scared. In fact, scared didn't even begin to cover it. It was a sick tension, a worry, a fear of the fact that something could go devastatingly wrong and harsh consequences would befall me.

"Ready?" he took my hand.

"Yes," I said. He went quiet as I picked up the mask with my right hand and closed my eyes. It was hard to concentrate when only one arm was free- I normally used both. I supposed that Sykes must be right about the 'keeping me grounded' thing.

Forget everything. Forget the world. Forget Mary, Lockwood, George, Sykes and Sybil. Forget all of the worries and pain and tension looming over me.

I cleared my mind and waited.

A wind suddenly blew in my face, and my eyes snapped open. I was not looking at the interior of Sykes' house, but I was now sitting in a study, on a chair, in front of a young woman with a pale complexion, dark curls and gorgeous green eyes, her pink lips pursed together as she scribbled down something vigorously on paper.

I realized with a jolt that this was the ghost of the mask- Marissa Fittes.

I also noticed that Sykes was sitting next to me.

But he wasn't seeing the things that I was seeing, because he said, "What is it? What are you getting?"

"She's writing something in her study," I murmured. I knew that she wouldn't be able to hear me- this was a memory- but I still felt the need to keep my voice down, as though speaking loudly would disturb her.

A door opened behind me and I turned my head to see a tall, thin, handsome man come in. He had sandy brown hair and dark blue eyes, with tanned skin. He actually looked better than _Lockwood,_ which was some achievement in itself. He sat down in a chair opposite Marissa, who looked up only when he did so.

"Ernest," she sighed, giving a tired smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure of having you visit?"

I nearly fell off my chair.

That was _Ernest?_

"The Oculars are nearly done," he said, excited. "Only a few tests more, and we can officially release them!"

I frowned. Oculars?

Marissa smiled through her visible exhaustion. "That's great! Do you have them with you right now?"

"Yeah," he said, rummaging through a bag and drawing them out.

I'd seen the likes of this before somewhere- a pair of goggles, with a little symbol on them.

A wave of shock crashed upon my shoulders. These were the ones George had nicked from Fairfax!

Only, these ones were much more crude- they were not perfect. They were small, roundish and rubbery, unlike the polished-to-perfection ones I'd seen.

"This could lead to a _revolution,_ " Marissa said excitedly. "Imagine that! A world where older people can _see_ ghosts!"

My jaw dropped. Wait, _what?_

 _See ghosts?_

Even without Talent?

"They're set for release this Friday," said Ernest. "And finally, supervisors will be able to see them as well! Agencies will become twice as efficient."

Marissa frowned. "What about the common people?"

"We're still working on lower-grade goggles designed for them, because, well, they haven't had agency training. If they see a ghost in its full form, in high detail, then they'd be completely unprepared. Frozen in shock, they'll be ghost-locked completely and... And then there would be more deaths with this than without. The lower-grade ones will give the viewer not a clear image, but a faint one, enough to make you realize what you're up against and evacuate."

She grinned, white teeth shining. "Thank you so much, Ernest. Do you mind if I keep these with me? I'm sure my granddaughter Penelope would love to see them- she's always been interested in ghosts..."

There was an odd ringing in my ears. I tried to register everything in my head, but I couldn't for the life of me. Somebody squeezed my hand and I turned my head sharply. It was Sykes.

"Ms. Carlyle," he said urgently, "you have to tell me what you're seeing or-"

But then suddenly his voice was swallowed, and so was everything else. The world around me disappeared into a torpedo of bubbling, whirling colors, and I heard static.

The scene changed and I was looking at a small Penelope Fittes, maybe ten years old, handing Marissa a shiny white mask.

"This is for you, grandma," she said, handing it over shyly. "I saw it in a store and thought you'd like it."

Marissa bent down, smiling. "Thank you, Penelope," she said, ruffling her hair. "I love it."

 _So that's how she got the mask,_ I thought. _She must have been really attached to Penelope to love it so much that it became her Source._

Blurry grey lines filled my vision and I suddenly developed a splitting headache. I felt like a crack was running through my brain. The pain made me feel dizzy and zoned out. I blinked through bleary, watery eyes, and then I was looking at Marissa Fittes sleeping, her hand under her pillow, loosely gripping the mask. I was standing in her room, next to her bed. The mahogany floors reflected dull moonlight, and velvet curtains flapped behind me. I heard a noise to my right, and turned. The sound was coming beyond the door.

I walked through the doorway to see that I was on the second floor, standing on the landing of the staircase. I leaned over the banister to see a dark shape huddled near the foot of the steps. The person was slowly unclasping the locks for a silver-glass jar.

Dread rushed through me, making me suddenly very cold. I wanted to rush upstairs and wake Marissa, but I knew that wouldn't help- this was a vision, and besides, I was frozen in place.

The person undid the last bonding of the jar, opened the lid and slid the Source out.

An eerie white-green-blue shape rose. It had a bent back and a monstrous look on its face.

" _Go,"_ whispered the person huddled next to it. _"Upstairs."_

The shape moved with immeasurable speed, rushing past me so fast the wind blew against my face. I turned in horror, following it, while the figure behind me cackled, also darting up the steps. I crashed into the bedroom and felt the sharp drop in temperature, which also woke Marissa. She blinked her eyes open on seeing the ghost, her mouth widening in shock- but even years, maybe decades, of experience couldn't help her now. She was too unprepared and had rose too late.

The ghost reared in front of her, then swooped down, draining the life out of legendary Marissa Fittes in one sinister movement.

The house was silent- so silent that I could hear static in my ears. Grey flashed in front of my eyes. I heard monstrous groans, and I saw several ghosts in a white, grey and black land, clustered around, staring at me silently. I heard voices. _Life in death,_ the Visitors whispered. _Life in death._

My vision began to crumble, and I heard Sykes' resonating, alarmed voice- _"Ms. Carlyle! I'm losing you! Listen to me, wake up!"_

The room came into focus, fully vibrant, ten times more insidious.

And then behind me came a soft chuckle, so malicious that it was inhuman, and then the night was quiet.

My eyes flew open and tears sprung to them. I gasped, taking large, heaving breaths. My heart juddered in my chest. Someone was gripping my left forearm tightly.

"Ms. Carlyle, thank God," said a voice. It echoed off the walls of my head a hundred times. "I thought- you nearly died- it was as though you were having a seizure."

I turned to see a head filled with hair and green-blue eyes. Did I know this man?

"I told you to keep me informed," he said disdainfully, still worried. "Or you would've had nothing to ground you. Even holding your hand wasn't enough. Your Talent is too powerful. You would've completely lost yourself!"

Wait, wait, I did. His name was Nolan 'Gravedigger' Sykes, and I'd come to his house with a brain loaded with questions.

At least some of them were answered now.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked.

I closed my eyes, then opened them again- I was afraid if I had them shut for any longer than two seconds I'd visit the world of visions and never come back. "Yes, I'm just really shaken," I said.

"I'll make you tea," he stood up and darted to the kitchen hidden somewhere in the depths of the house. "And you have to tell me everything!"

But I didn't want to. I didn't want to recount _any_ of that.

I couldn't stop the images from flashing through my head, though. The Oculars- I'd have to try them out sometime. They were unbelievable! But how was it that they weren't in the markets? Ernest! I was going to have a talk with that foul ghost. Him, and Marissa herself. I couldn't ask Penelope these questions, obviously- it would look fishy. No, I'd derive information from something else. And who was that dark shape? I had never felt to chilled to the bone in my life. There was clearly something wrong with the person- he had _commanded_ a _ghost._

Speaking to a ghost was one thing. Speaking to a Type Three, another. But _commanding_ one to do your bidding was a whole new subject altogether.

I knew I'd have to come clean to Sykes- but I decided to leave out Ernest, and the fact that I possessed a pair of Oculars.

Sykes suddenly reappeared, holding two mugs of sloshing, hot tea. "Here you go," he said, handing me a plate of biscuits as well. We sat there for a minute, sipping tea and crunching biscuits. "Do you feel any better?" he finally asked.

I smiled. "Measurably."

"Now," he set his mug down. "Do you mind recounting what happened?"

I exhaled. Just get it over with.

So I told him. I talked to him about the study, and 'Oculars'- devices which could help you see ghosts- and about Penelope giving Marissa the mask, and about how she died. I finished by picking up a biscuit dramatically and dipping it into my tea with a flourish.

"Wait." he frowned. "That can't be right."

"What?" I gave him a sideways glance. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

"How could you see Marissa's death," he said slowly, "when you were going through her memories? She would have witnessed her death for only two seconds or so. Why did you see a fully detailed, descriptive scene roughly a minute prior to the event?"

I blinked several times. "Unless..."

"Unless the third incident wasn't just a memory you were seeing," Sykes whispered in half-worry, half-awe. "Ms. Carlyle, it was a vision you provoked just by touching a Source. You have the power of Far Sight." His eyes were wild; he looked astonished. "Far Sight. This is unbelievable. I have never-" he let out a laugh.

"What, now?" I asked, confused.

He waved a hand. "It's not been _officially_ called that, of course. But it's a theory I speculated. Being able to see into the past, or the future. Ms. Carlyle, this is amazing. You could be _legendary!"_

"That's crazy!" I said.

"Is it, though?" his eyes sparkled. "Because you seem to have it."

I stared at him with an utter loss for words.

"Ms. Carlyle, this Talent you have... It's impeccable. You've got to exercise it. Push your capabilities."

And then I suddenly understood.

 _Why me?_ I had asked Sybil.

 _Because I had the most powerful Touch in all history._

 _Because I had Far Sight._

 _I know the answer didn't reassure me much, but somehow it validated my responsibilities, and it steeled my mind. It made me more determined, and I wasn't so lost anymore._

 _I knew who I was now._

"But please be careful as well- you don't want to suddenly get lost like how you almost did now." I snapped to attention as he fished around for a pen and paper and scribbled something down on it. "Here's my phone number. If you want training with controlling your Talent, or if you need help, or you simply want my theories, then feel free to call."

I nodded, taking it. "Thank you."

I gingerly picked up the mask next to me and put it in my satchel, and stood up. "I must be going, Mr. Sykes," I said, "But before I do, can I ask you a question?"

"Fire away."

"What do you think of Anthony Lockwood?"

His expression instantly changed to one of weary resignation and sorrow, and I felt a bit suspicious.

"Sit back down, Ms. Carlyle," he sighed. "This is going to take a long time."

* * *

 **A/N: Roughly 2.6k words. Not bad...**

 **Fresno29: Thank you so much! Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Meep: Aaaaaaaaaaaaah I'm so sorry! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for your comments! P.S I live in India so I'm in the IST timezone and I usually update during the afternoon, except on days like these. :)**

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 **Thals: SERIOUSLY... THANK YOU!  
Gosh, I hope you're not as busy now! (I usually work well under pressure but these days it's just... bad, so I know. Hope you're doing good!) Sorry for the cliffies, but I'm really glad you're enjoying this. Thank youuuuu :)  
Hahaha Tumblr is life, I joined two months ago and now... I've turned into a bat. Like literally, I'm awake all night on my laptop and I hiss whenever I see sunlight. XD THANK YOU, RIORDAN, FOR UNITING FANGIRLS OVER THE GLOBE! I love Athena but I'm probably daughter of Hades all the way! **

**arael205ar: THANK YOU! :D And that's so nice of you to say. I may be good at fanfiction but I'm crap when it comes to original stories... but if I do publish a book I'll certainly dedicate it to all you nice readers. :)**

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* * *

 **Soooo expect an update this coming Saturday. If not then, it's probably on Sunday, and if still not then, then I'll have it up on Tuesday. Thanks for being patient, and thanks for being such amazing readers!**

 **-Artemis**


	20. HIATUS plus Chapter 19

**A/N:**

 **! HIATUS !**

 **I'm really sorry about this, but I've come to realize that I can't continue the story with my crazily messed-up schedule. School is overworking me and my cousins have come over so I'll be mega-busy and SUPER-stressed for the next three weeks, and I'm already under enough pressure as it is. I will be able to answer PMs every weekend, but I guess that's probably it.**

 **I WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY, so don't freak out. This break is going to last probably for one or one and a half months, depending upon when my tests start again. But I will definitely finish this story. I've got a plot in my head that I simply _have_ to continue because it's my best yet. This is not the end!**

 **Anyway, please enjoy my shortest chapter ever; I had to really, really push myself to write this. I'm dedicating this to each and every one of you who've been so nice to me and have supported me and added to my views and it honestly means the WORLD to me. Because I see that I've gotten 7k views and 13 reviews on my last chap and oh my Gods it feels utterly SURREAL! Thank you ALL, SO MUCH. You are THE BEST.**

 **I'll see you all in a while!**

 **(I love Saturdays, so the next time I update it will be on a Saturday. Cheers!)**

* * *

19

I didn't realize that I was nervous until I could hear the blood pounding in my ears.

Half of me itched to tell Sykes that I didn't need to hear it, and that I'd leave right away, and the other half begged me to stay. In the end, I gave in to the latter, sitting down quietly on my chair, waiting for Sykes to speak. He was rubbing his forehead, muttering "Where do I start?"

I swallowed, listening to the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. I'd almost forgotten about the ghost I'd just encountered. Right here, right now, I was unveiling Anthony Lockwood's past.

The very idea scared and enthralled me.

"Alright," he sighed. "You work for him, don't you?"

I tried my voice. It was raspy. "Yeah."

"Has he told you about his...?"

"Parents and sister? Yes. He did. But he's awfully secretive. I don't know anything about his acquaintances, or who he was before this agency, and I dare not ask."

He exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. "Sounds a lot like the old Anthony Lockwood I used to know."

And he began.

"He'd come to me on his own when he was maybe seven years old. He was working for Fittes at that time, you see; his parents had obviously seen his Talent, and had sent him off for work immediately."

My eyebrows shot up. Lockwood and Fittes? It would make sense, since his parents _did_ help out with the agency, but it just seemed so unlike him.

"Well, according to his records, he _did_ have excellent Sight. He could point out Visitors from distances quite far away, and he'd give intricate descriptions of then. He could see Visitors quite farther than what was normal, and this helped his team out in several cases. But there was one problem, and this problem his fellow agents always teased him about." He chuckled and took a swig of tea. "He couldn't fight worth a damn."

Despite the situation, I found myself smiling in surprise and childish wonder. Tiny Lockwood, easily picking out ghosts from far off, but clumsy and unable to fight with a rapier.

I could barely handle how adorable it would be to witness that.

"So he came to me. He was irritated when he did, and looked miserable, but he had an iron-hard resolve when he told me that he needed fencing practice. I took him under my wing- I had classes with him twice a week. I started with the agency stuff- that boosted his Talent even further- and then I moved on to the sword training. He was a bright student. He quickly learned, and he excelled in my classes. He paid for them with his own pocket money." Then he sighed. "But he didn't get along with some people. Kat Godwin, for one. He never liked her- for some reason they both got off to a bad start. During one of his earlier rapier practices he accidentally took a cap off her coat, and it escalated from there. Mutual dislike."

I felt a little sadness- Lockwood had never shared such tales like this with me and George. Then I dismissed the feeling, reminding myself that everybody's allowed to leave some parts of their lives out of the equation. That just worsened the guilt, though. "He's never told me about it," I said.

"I would have been surprised if he did," replied Sykes. "He's not very comfortable about sharing that stuff, is he?" He laughed. "I bet he would've turned red and felt embarrassed if he tried sharing it."

I gave a half-smile, feeling a bit warmer inside.

"But there was no huge feeling of enmity between Godwin and Anthony. No, the real hate was between him and my close friend, Quill Kipps.

"It started when he beat Kipps in that fencing match, I think. They'd always remained relatively cordial towards each other- but do you know when you see someone and automatically start disliking them without even getting to know them?"

I thought about me and Godwin. "Yes."

"It was like that for the both of them. Sometimes Quill would be so blunt, teasing Anthony about his clumsiness, and that would send him into a fit of rage. It was half-comical, half-worrisome. But then it stimulated him into working even harder, and look where he's gotten with a rapier. Better than me, I'm sure."

He paused. "But then... The whole thing happened with his parents, and Esperanza- do you know about it?" This time I vigorously nodded and he continued. "-and Kipps was one of the agents who tried to take away his house, so the hate grew. But Anthony changed after that. He became caught up on the idea of vengeance- he said he'd use his Sight and his skills at fencing to track down his sister's killer. I warned him against it- revenge is never the way to do anything- but he wouldn't listen. I doubt he's come to now, has he?"

I shook my head.

"I didn't expect him to. But would you do me a favor, Miss Carlyle?"

I looked at him in his trust-filled eyes. There was something else in them. Hope, and worry, too.

"Yes," I said.

"Stop his ideas of payback. I'm sure it's not going to go down well. He's very strong-willed, and the things he might do..." He shuddered, leaned back. "He's more than capable of doing."

The reason Sybil told me not to trust him became a whole lot clearer.

"I-" my throat felt hoarse. "I'll try." I had to.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I'm not saying he's violent, Ms. Carlyle, but if he meets his killer, he will be. And I've seen his anger before, after the Esperanza accident. It's not something I want to see again. You're his employee. You have to look out for him."

I nodded and stood up numbly. "I really must go," I said, hurrying towards the door. What if George and Lockwood were back home? What would they say if they saw me missing? "But one thing," I paused at the doorway. "Did you call him Anthony?"

He nodded. "Yes, I did. His parents and sister called him Tony, but I wasn't too close to him to be that personal. Besides, we severed ties rather abruptly. I tried to dissuade him on the whole 'I will seek out the murderer' idea, we had a heated argument, and he just... left. I trained with him for a long time, so it was painful. I almost felt abandoned."

I felt a rush of sorrow. "I'm sure he still respects you," I said quietly. Sykes nodded absently, not quite believing what I said. I didn't expect him to- I was never good with this emotion stuff anyway.

I also remembered that Kipps mockingly called Lockwood 'Tony', and I felt an even bigger surge of hate for the man.

"Thank you," I said, slipping into the open day. "We'll be in touch. But please don't tell him about this meeting!"

Sykes gave me a grim smile as he walked over and put a hand on the door. "Don't worry," he said. "Your secret's safe with me."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Cynadred: No, thank YOU for being amazing! :)**

 **Guest: Oooh that's a nice coincidence! I love that name. :D**

 **Meep: That's so awesome! Cheers to you and Lost Daughter of Gallifrey! Thanks a bunch for commenting, and Locklyle will come up in a while. :)**

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 **Guest: I'll try :) thanks!**

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 **Guest(3): tHAT IS AMAZING WE HAVE A CANON SHIP, I REPEAT WE HAVE A CANON SHIP!  
Thanks for telling this to me! :D You're awesome!**

 **Lost Daughter of Gallifrey: You're welcome and YESSS! I knew I wasn't the only one! Here's some celebratory tea! *gives tea***

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 **I'll be back as soon as I can because you guys are all amazing, amazing.**

 **-Artemis :)**


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: Can I just say thank you so much.  
The past two months have been close to hell for me, what with all my tests, and the stress was almost overwhelming and I didn't feel like writing, at all. I realized, though, that I'd have to get back to this eventually, and so I checked my story stats and guess what I found?  
164 reviews, 42 follows, 31 favorites and _9k views.  
_ It's increased since then, and you have no idea how much motivation it gave me to write. Thanks you all, SO MUCH. You're all amazing people and I hope you're having a GREAT 2016 so far, and if you aren't, then I really hope it gets better! Aaaaah *insert heart emoji here***

* * *

20

Lockwood and George returned about two hours after my arrival at Portland Row. I became aware of their entry, sitting at the foot of the staircase, due to the turning of the key in the keyhole, the swift creak as the door swung open, and the loud _slam_ that reverberated through the halls and sent ancient relics shuddering as the door banged behind them.

They did not look happy.

I half-stumbled through the hall, wondering what all the noise was about, when I saw a very, irritated Lockwood and disgruntled, disheveled George hanging their coats on the rack.

"How did it go?" I asked carefully.

"Bloody _brilliant,"_ Lockwood said. "No, while Kipps and his rubbish team are going off this night to actually _search_ for the ghosts, _we're_ going to be sitting and _filing reports,_ and scanning the archives. And _they're_ getting in on all the action. And at the end of the day, if they do find a Type Three, then guess who's going to be getting all the credit? Not _us,_ I'll give you that!"

I bit my lip. "You didn't find anything?"

"Not at _all._ I don't know what they even expect us to find."

I did.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them he looked a little less frustrated. "How about you, Luce? How was your day?"

I gave a wan smile. "Boring," I said. "I was sleeping most of the time."

That was untrue.

After I'd left Sykes' place, I'd walked down the street to collect my thoughts. I'd brushed over the memories of my conversations with Ernest- and _Marissa Fittes._ It was all so annoying. Why couldn't they have just come clean about who they were? And all that 'jeopardize the Finality' rubbish wasn't that good of an answer anymore. According to them, _anything_ I did would jeopardize the Finality, and I'd already done countless things. The next time I saw them in my dreams, I was going to have a word with Marissa.

I had stopped in my place as I remembered the _previous_ dream I'd had.

" _Lucy!" Ernest cried, or at least, seemed to. "Tom Rotwell's descendant."_

" _What about him?"_

" _One of your cases! He was the ghost in one of your very, very recent cases! That thief who murdered the guy!"_

" _What?" Then it dawned on me. "Not the old couple? The Raw-Bones? The one whose Source was a bunch of notes and letters?"_

" _He's the descendant! His Source is the key!"_

 _And I understood. I'd have to stop the papers from being incinerated- that is, if they weren't already._

" _The Source isn't incinerated," the female Visitor said, guessing my thoughts. "It's scheduled for destruction tomorrow. That's why you've to get there first."_

Tomorrow? ...Wait, 'tomorrow' had been days ago!

I had stood there dumbly for a second, then sprinted along the street, waving my hands about, finally managing to hail a taxi as the initial stages of panic began to settle in.

"The Fittes Headquarters, please!" I'd gasped as I dove into the backseat.

During the journey, I'd pondered more about Ernest's words. The descendant of Tom Rotwell? He had all the answers, to the Other Place, and the Finality?

I had felt a sickening lurch in my stomach as I wondered if I was too late.

The journey seemed to stretch on forever, and I found myself tapping my foot anxiously on the floor, wanting to get to the Headquarters as fast as I could and find out the truth- had it been incinerated? Or had it been pushed back among the vast numbers of Sources that the Headquarters collected every day, queued for destruction according to their different levels of danger?

When I finally reached, I was in such a hurry to speed through the doors that I nearly forgot to pay the cab driver. I'd then marched towards the enormous, pristine glass building resembling a modern-day castle before I remembered-

-Lockwood & Co. and Kipps' team were searching for Type Threes.

I bit my lip. That was a problem I had forgotten. How would I manage to avoid all of them? They'd be lurking around somewhere, on the streets, in the archives, in the _artifacts room..._

I inhaled sharply. This was no time to think about that. I'd have to get the Source back now, or I never would. I'd just have to go with the flow, and try to remain as inconspicuous as possible. I didn't look like myself at all, actually, with disheveled hair and a rumpled shirt and leggings, lacking my rapier and skirt. No, I looked like an ordinary passerby. That would help.

I sped inside, quickly scanning and rescanning the lobby to see if anyone I knew was present. Nobody. I walked over to the receptionist.

"Can I see the list for the schedule of the incineration of Sources?" I asked, stumbling over my words in a hurry to get the papers and get out of there. To my intense annoyance, I notice that it was the same grouchy woman we'd met earlier- Lauren.

"No," she said sourly. "Do you have a license?"

"No, but-"

"Have you been given special orders by Madam Penelope Fittes?"

"No, but-"

"Are you with DEPRAC?"

"No!" I nearly yelled, almost slamming the desk in frustration. "I'm with an agency!"

She surveyed me with a reproachful glance, taking in my shabby state. "I see," she said, not sounding impressed at all.

"I'm Lucy Carlyle," I said. "Penelope Fittes has allowed Lockwood & Co. to come as they please. I _need to see the schedule."_

She sighed, perhaps remembering our first encounter. She hesitantly pulled out a thick wad of sheets from a drawer, handing the file to me with great reluctance, as though I'd suddenly rip it into shreds and flee.

I quickly flipped open to the latest few entries, my eyes darting down the page as I searched for any keywords related to _chest of yellowed papers._ I grew more confident as I didn't see it in the previous pages, meaning it hadn't already been destroyed. When I reached the last page, I felt relieved.

 _Raw Bones. Source: Bundle of papers and envelopes. Not sure which is Source. Destruction: 2 p.m. Being held in Room 12._

I'd been saved by the delay of its elimination. Its time had been shifted to _tomorrow._

I nearly threw the file down, feeling much better, and grinning at the half-disgusted, half-confused receptionist. "Thanks!" I said, then added, "This meeting never happened. It's confidential, only between the two of us." I doubted that she'd comply to my request, but who could she tell? Lockwood? Her dislike for him equaled her dislike for me. She had nobody to report to. I took off at top speed, rushing towards the elevator. I slid in and pressed the button reading _Furnaces._ I waited for the doors to close, and they began to, but to my horror, two people entered the lift just in time.

Namely, Kipps and Godwin.

Panic coursed through me as they neared, and I instantly dropped to the ground, pretending that I'd dropped something, and searched the floor for it. I waited for the, "What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?" signifying my discovery, but it didn't come. It had worked. They hadn't recognized me.

I straightened, turning my face and brushing my hair all over my cheeks to avoid further detection. I was still panicking. It was a tiny elevator and just the three of us were in it. Not to mention, it was _slow._

Kipps and Godwin, I noticed, were snarking about our team. I was tempted to strangle them both then and there, but what was the point? I let out a slow, silent exhale as the elevator reached the floor they were supposed to stop at- Extensive Research- and they walked out without a backwards glance.

The elevator continued its descent towards the furnaces. Once I reached, I exited, noticing the sudden increase in temperature from the heat of the furnace somewhere in the hall. I walked the corridors, reading the different labels above rooms. Room 1, 2, 3... I didn't stop until I found Room 12, and making sure no one was watching, I darted in.

It was huge. That was the downside.

I spent at least fifteen minutes in there, searching the shelves with my eyes. I whipped around in panic at the slightest of sounds, extremely worried that somebody would enter, see me, and raise the alarm. My heart hammered in my chest, and I made a mental note to try and calm down or I'd have a stroke from all the time my blood pressure raised. Not now, though. Now, I was alert, not an inch of the cabinets going unnoticed by my keen eyes. When I finally did find the Source, I noted that it was held in a chest, trapped within the glass division of one of the cases. My hand inched towards the glass, dragged the panel sideways-

-And the security alarm went off.

I hadn't noticed the keycard scanner next to the shelves which I supposed disabled the alarm for a while, and so when I'd opened the case, the burglar alerts started shrieking like electrocuted cats. Cold fear seized me and I grabbed the chest without thinking, undoing the clasp with shaky fingers, seizing all the notes and letters and stuffing them into my boots. I sped out of the room faster than light. The elevator had stopped working; it was on lockdown because I'd triggered it. The stairs were free, though, so I bolted up them, three at a time. My heart nearly stopped as I spotted two Fittes guards running towards me.

They were about to yell out at me to stop, to interrogate me, when I quickly yelled, "I think I saw someone down there nicking something! I came to call you!"

They didn't hesitate, speeding straight past me and down the stairs. Thanking my lucky stars, and their impulsive, not well thought-out decision of not second-guessing me, I dashed up the next flight of stairs, reached the lobby, where officials were panicking and yelling. Guards barricaded the doors. I desperately searched the room, looking for some way I could get out- and found the fire exit. I could see that there were more guards rushing towards it to cover it as well.

Now or never.

I sprinted faster than I'd ever sprinted before, adrenalin coursing through my veins, towards the fire exit. I threw open the door and saw that there was a flight of stairs that led underground, the light diminishing as the steps spiraled downwards. I could hear alarmed yells behind me, possibly from the guards, and I ran even faster, my feet barely touching the steps as I sped down them. I finally reached the underground base and continued running at breakneck speed, not letting momentum catch me, till I could see a small dot of light ahead, signaling that I'd be coming back above ground into the open city.

There were footsteps behind me, and I could hear them getting closer. They were faster than I was, but I was getting close. I dashed up the slope and was met by blinding sunlight and the loud bustle of crowds around me. I was thankful, for once, that it was so packed. I pushed past people, not daring to look back, till I found myself on the side of the street, running along until I finally found a taxi and hailed it. Gasping for breath, I gave directions to Portland Row to the driver so that I could go home. I slammed the door shut and we drove off, but I was at peace of mind only after we'd turned three corners and the stitch in my side was occupying my attention more than the actual prospect of getting caught by bloodthirsty Fittes officials.

I'd done it.

I let out a deep, loud, shaky exhale and slunk down in my seat.

The cab driver glanced at me in the rear-view mirror with a half-cautious, half-questioning look, asking nervously, "Are you alright, miss?"

* * *

I was at home now, and I'd washed up, but that underlying sense of worry hadn't left me for one second. I kept expecting some authority to show up at our doorstep and burst in, claiming that they'd uncovered me as the culprit and cuff my hands and put me behind bars for life. I'd wondered, pathetically, what my mother's reaction would be to see me on television: _Lucy Carlyle, age 16, sentenced to imprisonment for life for breaking into the Fittes Headquarters and stealing official documents._ She'd probably come all the way to London just to throttle me.

Now that Lockwood and George were home, though, I felt much better, much more relaxed. I knew they'd never let Fittes take me without putting up a fight.

They had finished freshening up and were in considerably lighter moods now.

"Do you know," Lockwood said, "That at Fittes, somebody stole something? I don't know what it was, but the fool triggered the alarm, and the entire facility was on lockdown for two whole hours. Apparently the thief had bolted out the fire exit, and the guards hadn't been able to catch him."

"Really?" I feigned shock. "That's something!"

Lockwood grinned. "I know! They didn't even get _close_ to catching the culprit! I heard that only some papers were stolen. They say that the burglar was a girl with short, dark hair. That's all they know- they don't even have any leads!"

I felt a bit relaxed on hearing _that._ Now I could rest, assured that I wouldn't be caught.

"That fellow must be daft, stealing from Fittes. If she's caught, she'll never be let out of jail. Why on earth didn't she disable the burglar alarm first? That's what any trained criminal would do." George had settled on the couch, munching a doughnut that he must've stolen from the kitchen.

"Well," I said, allowing myself to bask in just this one moment of vain pride, "she must've been _really clever,_ to evade Fittes completely."

* * *

 **A/N: So how was it for a comeback?**

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* * *

 **AAAAAAAH YOU GUYS ARE ALL SO AMAZING. HAPPY BELATED NEW YEARS BY THE WAY! HAVE A GREAT 2016!**

 **-Artemis**


	22. Chapter 21 (Valentine's Day Bonus!)

**A/N: OHMYGODOHMYGOD IT'S THE CHAPTER YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!**

 **NOW OR NEVER, REALLY. I can't keep dropping Lucewood hints anymore. This will tie together with the plot anyway.**

 _ **CONSIDER THIS A VALENTINE'S DAY GIFT :PP**_ **I guess you won't need a Valentine's day oneshot from me then!**

* * *

21

It was nearing nighttime.

I stood in the basement, trying out some fancy rapier moves on Floating Joe to pass time. I'd observed Lockwood long enough for the steps to finally register in my head, and now I was practicing some of them. I wasn't too great, but it turned out to be a nice stress-buster; I could understand why Lockwood did it so often. I put my right foot forward and extended my arm, pushing forward and driving towards the straw-filled dummy. Still moving my right arm and shoulder forward, I moved my left foot ahead and jabbed my rapier into Floating Joe, ripping his thin cloth, sending him swinging wildly away.

Somebody cleared their throat. "Nice _Fleche,_ Luce," said a voice from the doorway.

I turned. It was none other than Lockwood- only he'd learn the stupid names of those attacks. "What?" I asked, smiling.

"That move you just did. It's called the _Fleche._ French for 'arrow'."

"I only know it because I saw you do it."

The golden light from the kitchen highlighted Lockwood's silhouette, giving him a soft glowing background. I couldn't see his face in the dark, but I could tell he had a grin on it.

"I was thinking," he said. "We've got a case tonight, and maybe it would do you good to come along, get your mind off things."

I considered it. It was nice of him to say that- and I really _did_ need a distraction.

"Sure," I said. "So, all three of us, and what's the case?"

"Actually," he shifted, "George is going to be staying here watching those old soaps on the TV. That's why I plan to get out of here."

I laughed. "Then I'm definitely coming along."

Now I could see his white teeth flash. "The case just seems like some weak Type Two. We'll be fine. We'll probably have lots of fun."

"Okay," I said. "But it's getting late, so I think we'd better pack now."

He nodded and descended the staircase, and we began to stuff our equipment into a duffel bag together.

* * *

"I wish we had George's thermometer, though," I muttered.

It was around ten thirty p.m, and the ghost hadn't appeared yet. It wasn't even _slightly_ cold, and I had no idea if the temperature had dropped or not. We weren't close to even identifying a Source.

"Oh, it'll appear sooner or later," Lockwood flashed me a smile. "Typical weak Type Two. Spectre. Blurry white figure rushing through the attic and third floor. Not very dangerous, I believe."

I looked at him, sighed. There was no way I'd ever be unable to believe him.

But I couldn't trust him. Sybil had made that clear. And I was getting more doubts every day.

 _Even though he trusted me._

We were currently sitting on the ground floor of the house, me doing a bit of light sketching, Lockwood observing the house. I felt a bit uncomfortable. The atmosphere was cheerful enough, friendly enough, but for some reason we both seemed to be more cautious while talking to each other. Tense. For some reason. Lockwood seemed to be thinking about something deeply, still chatting with me normally, but he seemed pensive over something. When I asked him about it, he just laughed and replied, _"Oh, you know, Fittes."_

I had a feeling there was more to it, though. But I didn't pester him further. If he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me.

"Why don't you just go set up an iron circle upstairs, Luce?" he asked. "I'll stay here, study the notes."

"Okay," I said. "Yell if you need anything."

I picked up the one duffel bag we'd carried with us and heaved it along up the staircase. It was considerably light. It just contained iron chains, candles, an iron net, and two flares. Attached to my belt was a small pouch of iron filings. Lockwood didn't have any- we'd run out of them. Apparently it had something to do with the Iron-Silver Crisis- that's what they'd come to name it. We were running out of stock.

I reached the attic, removed the iron chains from the bag. I lit a few candles to provide me some source of light- they were much better than flashlights. They gave you warmth, for one. They provided light without blinding you to the terrors of the dark. They indicated the presence of Visitors.

I pulled out the iron chains as well, then tried to arrange the iron chains in a circle as our base. I noticed that we were a few inches short of having a good defense base. I looked back into the duffel bag to pull out another set...

...And found nothing.

Cold engulfed me as I realized we had no supplies. _No supplies._ The iron chains, if adjusted, would barely be enough to protect one person. I didn't have a vast amount of filings. We had practically _no defense..._

I realized that the cold I was feeling wasn't just from fear.

The candles flickered.

I felt dread wash over me as I turned around.

The lights went out.

The Spectre was clear to me, contrasting brilliantly against the dark gloomy backdrop of the attic. Its features were sharp, depicting a man, looking to be somewhere in his thirties, staring angrily dead into my eyes, like it wanted a piece of my soul.

But I was no stranger to these situations. I wasn't ghost-locked at all. It wasn't even trying to attack me. So I did the most polite and careful thing an advanced Listener could do in that situation.

"Er... Hi?" I said, an awkward smile on my face.

The ghost shrieked and lunged at me and I ducked, grabbing the iron chains and swinging them above my head. It gave them a wide berth and, with that unceasing psychic wail, swooped out of the attic downstairs.

I realized where it was going.

" _Lockwood!"_ I yelled, but I didn't think it would do any good. There was no way my voice would carry four floors down. I dropped everything and ran downstairs, unsheathing my rapier, darting down the steps as fast as I could. The Visitor had vanished from sight, but I could still feel its presence. I sprinted, kept sprinting, neared the ground floor. I caught sight of Lockwood, calmly reading his notes, a very gentle frown on his face.

The ghost was about two feet behind him.

" _Lockwood!"_ I screamed again. He snapped to attention, whipping around, sword in hand quicker than a flash, as the Spectre sped right towards him. He sliced outwards, but it was speedy, dodging his blade and attacking again. I stood, transfixed, then again surged ahead, only to miss the last three steps and fall, my rapier skittering away from me and resting in a corner of the room.

My fall distracted Lockwood and he turned to me in concern.

It reappeared right behind him as I pushed myself to my feet.

The Visitor moved.

No time to cry out.

No time to fetch my rapier.

He was so, so far away...

My lips formed his name and he realized, spinning around. If he had backed away, he would've been safe. But his foot caught on a loose floorboard, sending him crashing downwards, his rapier flying out of his hand. The Visitor reared upwards, teeth elongating into fangs, eyes turning to hollow, dark pits, ectoplasm flaring-

-As a last resort, I tore the pouch from my belt, unzipped it and hurled its contents at the ghost.

The iron filings, though little in number, did the work.

The Spectre howled and disappeared as they attacked its plasm like tiny bullets, shredding its form, raining down everywhere, hitting Lockwood's face as well, causing him to curl up and shield his head. But it was gone. He was safe, apart from the probable tiny blisters he'd gotten from the steaming iron.

I Listened over the pounding of my heart. No, there was nothing more. I rushed over to Lockwood and helped him sit up and extract his leg wedged between the hole in the floor and the floorboard.

"Are you alright?" I felt kind of terrible. I actually wanted to cry. All my pent-up stress needed an outlet, and unfortunately that outlet was here and now. It didn't help that I just saw my best friend nearly die. "Lockwood, did you get ghost-touched? I should've warned you earlier, I'm so-"

And then I was very confused, because all of a sudden he was kissing me, and I didn't know what to do except kiss him _back,_ because honestly, it wasn't like I hadn't thought about it before and yes, I did very much like him. We both smelled like fear and iron filings and burning ectoplasm, but it was still nice, his hands on my shoulders, my hands in his hair.

I can't say a haunted house is the best place to declare your feelings for another person. But we still made it work.

Our faces were both flushed as pulled away and sat together for a minute in silence, me leaning against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his greatcoat.

"So... Um..." I began, and we both laughed(perhaps because of nervousness, or because we had to fill the more-than-awkward quiet).

I finally settled for, "...what now?"

"I've been meaning to tell you this for quite some time, Lucy." Lockwood gave me a gentle smile.

No further explanation was needed. "I feel the same way," I muttered, sure my ears were on fire.

"Is this what normal people do? In their boring lives? Go on dates and gift each other chocolates?" he snorted, and I laughed. Really laughed. I felt really good.

"I don't think we'd ever fit into the 'normal couple' category, Lockwood."

"No, me neither. We're an erratic ghost-fighting duet."

Both of us chortled at that. "You know," I said, "we'd better locate the Source now, or we might encounter our lovely friend again."

Lockwood reached past me and lifted the floorboard, to reveal a misshapen figure which I could recognize as bones. Buried underneath the house. Homicide. "Guessed so," he grinned at me, a new kind of twinkle in his eyes.

* * *

Lockwood slammed down the phone in disbelief. "This is horrible!" he cried out.

"What?" George asked, still glued to the TV.

He ran his hand through his hair. _"There's barely any supplies left!_ Apparently the last set of iron chains had been shipped off to the stores yesterday. They've only got filings, magnesium flares and salt bombs. They've even stopped manufacturing _rapiers._ Our lack of all agency-related materials is driving people insane, and the Problem is becoming worse every day! Long story short, we have no more means to defend people from the steadily rising number of Visitors!"

We'd sealed the Source and rang up DEPRAC to manage the remains and get them incinerated by Fittes. Now we were at home, and we had a bigger problem to deal with.

 _The Iron-Silver Crisis._ The name didn't sound very impressive, but it marked a change. A change in the pattern of our lives, now and forever.

"I counted just as we came back," he continued. "We have no filings, and we've got seven sets of iron chains, four packs of salt bombs, a carton of flares and nine rapiers. From now on, we throw _nothing_ out, no matter how worn-out or ectoplasm-stained it is."

George had finally given Lockwood his undiverted attention, and nodded slowly. "Right," he said. "But you know Fittes and DEPRAC. They usually resolve all of this quickly. And there's no way Barnes would let ghosts roam the streets freely. They'll settle it in a while. Now may I resume watching TV?"

Lockwood cursed under his breath, then nodded, and George turned back to his soaps. Lockwood and I walked to the staircase together.

We paused as I was about to ascend to the attic, looking at each other for a few moments, unspeaking.

"What?" I laughed nervously.

He laughed too, and pulled me into a hug which I gladly returned, bunching his coat in my fists. I inhaled, noticing he smelled like vanilla. "Nothing, Lucy. I was just worried about you. You seemed so distant all this while." I guiltily realized that that was why he looked so far off in the beginning of the case. "I just hope you're okay."

I held him tighter, smiling contentedly, a little heat rushing to my face as I pulled back and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm fine now," I said. And for that second, I really was.

I walked up to my room- turning around as I ascended the staircase- and sneakily grinned as I saw him still standing at the foot of the steps, his face undeniably red too.

* * *

 **A/N: YOOHOO HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY ALL OF YOU WHAT TIME TO BE ALIVE**

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 **Gosh I'm tired. I haven't had a great week but your support brightens my day :) Hope you're all doing great!**

 **-Artemis**


	23. Chapter 22 (Finally)

**A/N: GUYSSS I'M BACK SO SORRY**

 **I'd like to say thanks so much for understanding why I've been gone! The past two months were absolute hell for me, with my finals, and now I'm on vacation and I have a lot more time to get myself together and WRITE. This chapter's longer than the usual by about 1600 words or so; it took like seven pages on Word. So hopefully it's worth it, thanks so much! Please feel free to ask questions because this may be tricky for one's mind to wrap around.**

 **Also, I've got 11.5K VIEWS AND 208 reviews! That did wonders to my self-esteem and I feel so great right now! I could write paragraphs expressing my gratitude but I'm very tired and I'll probably crash after this. Thank you, everyonee!**

* * *

22

My door was locked. It was pitch-black save for the luminescent glow of my lamp that kept the darkness at bay, its yellow light streaking across the my hands and dropping shadows behind the pages clutched in my fingers.

I was reading the papers- one of which was the ghost's Source.

This was stupidly dangerous, I knew, to do during the dead of the night. But during the day wasn't safe. If I were caught by either Lockwood or George, I'd have a hell lot of explaining to do, especially since they said they'd be home for the rest of the week, _not_ going to hunt for Sources, and I quote Lockwood's words: _"Barnes can go-"_ followed by a string of obscenities, punctuated by a snort from George at the end.

In other words, I had no time.

The late researcher might hold information vital to me, which I could use to prepare myself and link the disasters that had occurred lately. I needed to communicate with him, find out something, _anything._

The papers were indecipherable- and not because of bad handwriting or the ink worn with age, no. They were written in a completely different language. I'd thought it was some kind of code, something the writer had put together to stop anyone else from reading it.

Maybe I could crack it?

I'd placed a few charms and a thick loop of iron chains near the door, and I was sitting in my own iron circle, the lamp next to me, reading. If the ghost appeared, I probably wouldn't be able to see it due to the light, but I'd probably notice the miasma and sudden chill, which would lead me to switching it off.

I had nothing to lose except my life, and would that be so bad?

My head pounded as I felt the pressure drop in the air.

It was coming.

I frantically searched through the sheets again. What was this _code?_ Some pattern in them, maybe? But the symbols were nothing like English, or anything I'd ever seen. They were like hieroglyphs.

The room went dead quiet, as if someone had turned the noise valve off.

No use now. I switched off the light and waited quietly.

The lamp had half-blinded me, so it took a whole minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When I could finally see, the only thing that captured my view was a Visitor, glowing pale blue-white with a sad expression on his long, sallow, slender face.

"Hi," I began awkwardly. "I'm... I'm the- the one responsible for the Finality."

The ghost flickered in and out of focus suddenly.

"I can't understand your papers," I continued. "Could you explain?"

This time, a voice came to my ears. _"Far Sight..."_

It clearly seemed to be struggling to stay in form, trying to communicate. I realized that it was only a Type Two. Which meant whatever information I needed to derive, I _couldn't_ from its limited speech.

Unless.

" _Far Sight..."_ it spoke again.

Unless _I_ tried.

I closed my eyes, zeroing in on the coldness of the room, the miasma, the blood pounding in my ears. The feeling of the Visitor's presence in front of me. I crawled out of the iron ring, the coldness of the wood flooring biting my hands, sending tendrils of fiery ice through my fingers. I felt everything.

I opened my eyes and stared into the hollow pits of the ghost's.

Far Sight.

I was ready.

I was unafraid.

It was like a key turning in a lock; suddenly I was unchained, limitless, not only physically, but mentally. Just that sole realization was effective enough to help me _transcend_ the barriers of normal living.

I stretched my arms forward just as the ghost did too, and our hands met.

There was an explosion of white in my vision and a mind-numbing sense of cold pain that shot through my body, the ice freezing me from head to toe. I felt a sudden jolt of panic- had I gone wrong? Was I Ghost-Touched?

But the panic faded away as my vision cleared and I felt warmth seep back in me. I then noticed I wasn't in my room at all, but rather at a table in a garden, humid summer air tickling my neck and playing with my hair, having tea with the same Visitor, in flesh-and-blood.

My primary emotion, instead of fear, was utter confusion, followed by intrigue and excitement.

"Where am I?" I asked cluelessly.

"You're using your Far Sight, Lucy," said the man opposite me. "No, this is not a vision. It is not a memory of the past, and it is not a glimpse of the future. Rather, you're looking into the Other Place."

 _The Other Place._

This... This is what it was like? With sunshine and grass and... Tea parties? I'd trade real life for the Other Place any day, then.

He seemed to understand what I was thinking, and waved his hand. "It's a glamour," he said. "The _real_ side of Visitors is too painful for mortals to see. It's a whole different universe. Mortals are not as developed as Visitors."

That statement left me confused, because I thought it was the other way round.

"It isn't," he said, causally sipping his drink. "Our communication patterns are too complex for you to process. I should know. I'm a Visitor. And I researched supernatural forces as a human. Of course, that was before I died- oh, don't look so flabbergasted. Yes, I can read your thoughts. You're in the Other Place, the realm of ghosts- of course we know what your undeveloped mortal brains are thinking! The important thing is, though, I discovered a lot about the Other Place- groundbreaking details, in fact, which are vital if you need to destroy Visitors once and for all. But I am a ghost myself- so am I being a traitor, or is this some insane method of suicide?"

His words slowly managed to merge with understanding, and my brain was filled with a mass of thoughts, the main one being, _Lord, this one talks a lot._

I honestly didn't know what to say. So I settled for the most sensible response: "Sorry, _what?"_

"Oh, I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Blight- Vernon Blight. Supernaturalist, and the brother of an infamous follower of Edmund Bickerstaff, Ernest Blight. That boy ruined my reputation, running around and unintentionally killing people... Although, he did tell me about the Bone Glass, which was very useful indeed."

" _Wait, what?"_ my head spun. "You're Ernest's _brother?"_

Blight paused, startled. "What, he didn't tell you? Oh, yes, he didn't. The jeopardy of the Finality, I suppose. Oh, well, it's too late for that now. It's coming."

I felt a sudden flash of cold run through me. "What?"

"Meaning just a few days after I tell you this, you'll have to face the demons once and for all. You have a few days to figure it out. But if you need to get past it, finish off either humans or ghosts once and for all, you need to understand." He smiled. He set down his cup and held a hand out.

I don't know why I trusted him.

I just _did._

I reached out and grasped his outstretched palm.

The world around me shifted; I felt the chair give way. I was suddenly enveloped in a mass of swirling blue and white flashing lights, and all of a sudden I wanted to get out. No. I didn't _want to do this._ Why me? Why did I have to 'save the world'? I felt panic rise up in my throat, along with a sense of hopelessness.

But then I heard Blight. _"Lucy."_ he said, and I turned to see him staring at me with confidence in his eyes. "You can do it. You're perfectly capable. Trust yourself."

I swallowed. This was it. I was getting _all the pieces._ I'd have all the information I needed.

I just had to think and figure it out.

The white and blue ambiance froze in my vision, then faded, and I was left looking at a mousy brown-haired woman, who looked strangely familiar.

Then it struck me- this was a very, very young version of Sybil Audley.

A much smaller, younger girl burst inside- she looked eight years old. I struggled to grasp recognition of her soft features.

I jumped as someone next to me gave a loud slurp. Blight, still drinking his damned tea, was watching the unfolding scene with mild disinterest.

"Recognize them?" he asked without looking at me.

"That's Sybil," I said. "And..."

I trailed off as the small girl screeched with ecstasy. "Sybil!" she cried, lunging forward for a hug.

"Penelope," the woman replied fondly. "It's nice to see you, dear."

I was glad I wasn't still drinking tea, because I was sure I'd have spat it out.

I gawked at the vision, then turned to Vernon, my jaw hanging open like a door swinging on its hinges. _"Penelope?"_ I cried. "As in, _Penelope Fittes?_ You've got to be joking!"

"Oh, Ms. Carlyle," he replied, a twinge of sadness to his voice. "If only I was."

The noise of the scene was drowned out, and the two were left talking to each other animatedly with shining eyes, mouths opening and closing and not emitting sound-

-The view changed, and I was now standing in a hallway near the top of a flight of stairs. Eight year-old Penelope was running, smiling, Sybil madly chasing after her with delicate steps, trying not to skid on the polished wood. "Penelope! Be careful! You musn't-"

But her words fell on deaf ears, and Penelope raced ahead just as my stomach jumped with alarm. She slipped on the floor, fell forward and crashed against the banister, falling sideways and tipping over the staircase, rolling down, down, down the stairs, bumping her head against the edges of each step with a sharp, unpleasant _thud._ Sybil's scream was distant in my ears as I stood numb, glued to the spot, unable to _do_ anything. She rushed down the staircase in slow-motion, and then white flecks were dancing in front of my eyes once again, sweeping me away to a new day.

Now I was in a chair next to Blight, surrounded by white walls and silence save for the constant beep of an IV recorder. Penelope was in a clean white bed, pale as death, her eyes closed, breathing painfully slow.

"What happened?" I asked in a shushed voice.

"She hit her head rather badly," replied Vernon. "It was so much worse than just some mild abrasion. She had internal bleeding, and it was hard to say if she'd make it out alive. She was just lying in bed in hospital for weeks in this unresponsive, comatose state."

I was quiet for a while. "How did she survive?"

"Sybil," he said, as if that explained everything. "She'd actually met Penelope's mother at the Fittes agency, when she worked there. The two became close, and she developed a bond with Penelope too. When Penelope's mother died when she was just two, directing orders for her own mission and getting ghost-touched, Sybil naturally could barely leave the child. Along with Penelope's father, they nursed her, saw her grow up. Even though Ms. Audley couldn't really act as a maternal figure to her all those years, she did think of herself as Penelope's guardian. So when this happened..."

The door slid open and this time, a very worn, disheveled Ms. Audley entered instead of the prim, good-looking and fresh young woman I'd seen before. Her hair seemed to have been waging a battle with itself, unkempt and in disarray. She sat down quietly in the seat next to the bed, smoothing out Penelope's hair.

"They shifted Penelope to Ms. Audley's house after three weeks, as the hospital's environment wasn't really impacting her health at all," he explained. "Every day she'd stay by her side for at least two hours, hoping she'd wake up. Doctors visited too, did regular check-ups on her statistics. But soon they had to give Ms. Audley the brutal truth- she'd have to pull the plug on Penelope. There was no indication of Penelope coming back soon, now or at all."

I couldn't reply, just stared at Sybil's face.

"Love is powerful and dangerous," he said suddenly, strangely. "It drives you to the utmost measures. And Sybil was a victim to foolish beliefs. She didn't want to let her go. She believed she could bring Penelope back by channeling a spirit."

I sighed wearily. Now that I'd got over the original shock of all the connections, nothing was surprising anymore.

In fact, I'd probably be surprised if I _didn't_ experience something worrying or disturbing everyday.

"How would she do it?"

"Well, how did Edmund Bickerstaff create a rift in dimensions?"

Again, there was a ripple in my vision, like a heavy stone being dropped into a clear, still lake, and my world shifted again; I was beginning to feel nauseous, and wished he would just give me a solid picture of everything.

The room was dark, and was lit up by an eerie blue glow which seemed to emanate from nowhere. Sybil was clutching her shoulders, trying to warm up slightly, even though she was already swathed in scarves and sweaters. Penelope looked paler than ever, her fingers almost tinted blue. The fact that I wasn't feeling any of the miasma or the cold helped ground me and make me remember that I was seeing a vision and I could change nothing.

Then I noticed she'd placed around the bed several suspicious-looking objects and was staring at them, arms spread open, speaking out: "I'm calling you through here. I need your help in sustaining her life."

Alarm rose up in me as I realized she was trying to _summon_ several spirits by collecting their Sources and attempting to arouse them.

"How did she know it would work? Penelope could've gotten possessed, or ghost-touched! How could she know that they were going to help?"

Vernon Blight's eyes were dull, sad almost. He looked at me seriously. "This is where you have to start paying attention," he said. "When you are subjected to amounts of high psychic energy, or enter a coma, your spirit is exposed to supernatural forces. In other words, you're operating at high levels of supernatural energy, especially in the first case. Your presence becomes known to the spirits of the Other Place, and they recognize you as a vessel, a medium. This is equivalent to opening up a shaft for them to inhabit your body."

"That's what happened to me?" I asked. "With Marissa, and Esperanza, and Ernest trying to possess me?"

"Yes, exactly," he nodded vigorously, as if trying to hurry. "That happened to me as well, when I was living. I researched so much, exposed myself so much, that my subconscious was almost always in the Other Place. I even began writing in a different language due to my difference in perspective, as you might have seen." He laughed drily, humorlessly. "But in the second case, in a coma, you're almost half-dead. Your subconscious is wandering around, not in a physical plane of existence. In fact, this way, you almost become a _Visitor,_ as you're roaming a supernatural realm."

"So how was she trying to get Penelope back by drawing out other Sources?"

"She was hoping that by drawing out different ghosts, she'd be able to draw out Penelope's spirit as well."

Fog suddenly pooled in from cracks in the corners of the room, swimming around our feet.

"And on one level, she succeeded."

Penelope suddenly started writhing, as if having a seizure, and Sybil rushed over, doing nothing, but staring with helpless, hopeful eyes. Then she stopped, and jerked forward, sitting upright with a huge, heavy gasp, almost choking on the intake of air, eyes flashing white for a second and then reverting to their original color. She caught sight of Sybil and blinked twice, then a huge grin spread across her face, mirroring Ms. Audley's as she cried out, enveloping the smaller girl in a hug, almost sobbing with relief.

"But she also went wrong."

Penelope's smile dropped and she screamed.

The five Visitors standing- floating, rather- behind Sybil, once silent and unnoticed, now gave identical wails and lunged at her, causing her head to snap upwards in a silent scream.

"But the funny thing was, even though the ghosts had rushed into her at once, Ms. Audley did not show any of the symptoms of ghost-touch. Her eyes were not glassy. Her skin wasn't swollen or blue. And when Penelope rang the hospital and Ms. Audley was lying in bed four hours later, all her levels were normal. Except, when she opened her eyes, she could see things that nobody else could. She wasn't ghost-touched. She was possessed. Not by one, not by two, but by _four_ Visitors."

"Four? What about the fifth?"

My vision was dark, but I could hear his voice echo around me. "The fifth didn't inhabit her at all. Our best guess is that it receded, went back to the Other Place."

But for some reason, I didn't believe that. There was something fishy about the fifth Visitor just disappearing while the others didn't.

We were swept away then, by a flurry of white-blue dots, and once again were sitting in the garden, feeling heat upon our skin, delicate china staring innocently up at us.

Back in the _real_ Other Place. (Or its glamour.)

"How did she control all of them? I couldn't handle myself at all. I blacked out. I lost track of myself. She didn't go crazy, she was fine..." I babbled.

Vernon smiled.

"The answer's deceptively simple," he said. "She was completely willing. She was willing to let the ghosts take her over, if that meant Penelope getting back to normal. And that gave her absolute control over herself, while still able to exercise the Visitors' powers at will."

I gave him a confused look. "I don't understand," I said.

He leaned forward to clasp my shoulder. "Lucy, you're dealing with supernatural forces here. You don't have to understand everything. Some things are beyond our powers of comprehension."

The wind suddenly took on a harsher speed, blowing my hair into my face, and at the same time, I felt a tug in my gut. "That's your calling," said Vernon knowingly. "You'll have to go back- the Other Place is no good environment for mortals, even strong, possessed ones like yourself. You can come back here if you need any more questions."

I felt the need to stand up, so I did. Cold spread through my chest, even though the air was warm and pleasant, and my vision began to turn transparent. "Use your Far Sight, Lucy. You're gifted to have it. Don't bother saying hello to my brother- I deal with his annoying self here every day." A grin crept up on me, and it felt good to smile after all this tension. I was proud of myself- I had finally come to understand a lot of the questions on my mind.

"Oh, and Lucy, you might want to stay away from ghost-wards for a day or two. You've exposed yourself to ghosts here, and so you might feel a little... _Supernatural_ for a while. You'll burn yourself against iron, the same way you did just after you'd come round from being possessed. The effect fades off after sixty hours or so."

I made a face. "So you're saying if I spend too much time around ghosts, I'll bring out my 'Visitor' side? Just what I needed."

Vernon gave a bright, beaming smile. Lockwood would've been jealous. "Lucy! You were sarcastic! That's surely a good sign- I thought your humor had disappeared after all this."

That was the last thing he said to me before I woke up lying on the cold wooden floor, feeling very solid and real.

I was still in the vicinity the iron circle, and I could feel it trying to repel me. My skin was hot and feverish all over, probably due to this, so with a hiss I got up and hopped away, feeling coolness wash over me when I did so. Gingerly, I sidestepped towards the bed, switched on the lamp and picked up Vernon's notes, doing a double take when I realized I could now understand them.

 _Far Sight._

I briefly scanned through the writing, but it consisted of information I already knew of, either informed by Sybil, Marissa or Vernon himself. I was prepared for the Finality, more or less. At least now I was getting the hang of surviving.

I smiled to myself, as if participating in an inside joke nobody else alive knew, which, in all honesty, was not that far from the truth.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope that clears up any doubts about why Lucy didn't get burned by the iron in the previous chapter. But I'm actually quite embarrassed about this, I'm not happy with it at all... I dunno... what do you think?**

 **So we finally got to know all the important stuffffff oh my god. I literally gave away EVERYTHING about all the supernatural elements of the story in this chapter. There is still a few clues I've to give, about the Goggles and the Iron-Silver Crisis, and that's it. Quite literally. There are maybe three more chapters in this part and then we're onto the last section of the story.**

 **Also, now you understand why part 4 is called Transcendence ayyy**

* * *

 **Dakalu23385: THANK YOUUU I'm so sorry that I'm this terribly late. I'm hoping to update again next week.**

 **ligersrcool: XDD Valentine's Day is a weird day haha**

 **Cynadred: No, thank YOU for reviewing and being a nice person! :)**

 **Michelle Blackwell: Aaaahh thanks so much! That's awesome to hear. XD Sorry I didn't write a oneshot. Maybe once I finish this fanfic or something, or when I get ideas.**

 **Ellievator: I know and I'm grimacing at myself for what I'm going to do a few chaps from now... *nervous laughter* Thanks!**

 **Guest: I'm glad to hear I am inducing feels XD I'm so happy to get such positive support, thank you!**

 **Meep: Awww that's so nice of you to say! I was horribly worried about making them OOC. The betrayal being Lucy hiding so much from him, not being able to tell him any of the truths on what's going on, because Sybil warned her that she couldn't trust him.**

 **Thals Wayward: AAAAH your review made my day :D Thank you, so much, and I'm sosorry for not updating. You're awesome.  
**

 **Agent StarLCo: Thank you! As for the spoiler, I'm very sorry but Lockwood and Lucy aren't going to be happy for long. (I hate myself for doing this though) and YES, I had my final exams but now I'm on vacation and I could cry because I really needed this break. Have a great day!**

 **Cassi0peia: Yeah, that's going to be one of the main issues coming up in the next updates. I'm so happy that you liked the previous chapter, I feel great :D Many internet hugs to you!**

 **AmericaTheHetalian: I'M DEAD, THAT'S SO NICE OF YOU TO SAY. Thanks so much, have a great day!**

 **HunterofArtemis: That was a great review to read :D Thank you, and thank Executioner Without A Head too. Love you too XD**

 **BlackCar678: Thanks! I hope you enjoyed :)**

 **Nemaides: I'M SCREAMINGGG I didn't expect to make it this far, thanks so much!**

 **elaima0158: Thanks so much for all the reviews, haha. I'm glad to keep up the mystery xD**

 **BUT SERIOUSLY. THANKS FOR NOT GIVING UP ON ME.**

 **-Artemis**


	24. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hi.  
**

 **So the past month has been absolute *censored haha* for me? I've been getting worse and worse, and my emotional state was deteriorating, and I was really afraid that I was letting my problems affect my writing, which is something I don't want happening. So I've been trying to get better, even if that means updating my fanfiction irregularly.  
I hope nobody else feels as bad, because it's really important that you stay healthy and happy. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you enjoy this.**

* * *

23

My Far Sight did a lot of things for me.

It unraveled codes.

It helped me understand.

It helped me prepare for what was coming.

And that day, it helped me face the truth of what was happening.

The morning started normally enough. I was bone-tired and drained of mental energy as I almost rolled out of bed. I sidestepped the iron chains, still lying around after the previous night, and headed into the bathroom to collect myself.

It actually happened. I had _actually_ unleashed my true potential. I was probably the most important person alive since Marissa Fittes.

Of course, this all sounded extremely cheesy and cliched in my head, even more so if I said it out loud. But there was no way to butter it over, or diminish its importance. If I felt pride, I didn't bask in it for too long; right then, I was terrified.

I showered, brushed and walked outside, snatching the necklace Lockwood had gifted me- it had become routine; I always wore it, except on select days when I was more resentful or when I wasn't myself. But as my hand came in contact with its clasp, a sudden searing bolt of pain flashed through my palm and fingertips, traveling up my nerves all the way till my shoulder. I gasped in pain, dropping it like hot coals, barely able to conceal the pain-filled scream that was threatening to burst out of my throat. What had happened?

Then it dawned upon me, as I stared wearily at its innocently glittering links; _silver._ A wave of sorrow and unexplainable shame washed over me as I realized I wouldn't be able to wear it- all because I was _possessed, half a ghost, susceptible to demonic power,_ et cetera- and for how long?

This was nowhere near as bad as the incident with the iron chains earlier- probably because the previous night I'd been exposed to so much more psychic energy. I cautiously lifted it up the edge of my boot, my skin prickling as I felt its radiations through the thick material. I kicked it over next to my nightstand, wincing as it skittered across the ground, and desperately hoped I hadn't scratched its surface, or worse. But it would do me no good to check. I guiltily walked out of the room and down the steps for breakfast.

Understandably, the incident had left me sullen and quiet, but Lockwood didn't know why. "Luce, are you alright?" he asked when I'd sat down in my chair with a plate of toast and a mug of tea, avoiding his and George's eyes.

I looked up, faking a yawn. "Of course," I replied, putting on my best innocent tone.

Lockwood cracked a smile. "Try and get some sleep. Yes, we're nightly creatures, but that doesn't mean we don't deserve our due rest." And with that, he dropped the matter, and I was confronted with my familiar guilt-trip and voices of _he trusts you and you betrayed him_ in my head.

George, however, was staring at me weirdly. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked even sharper since he had his glasses on. Light bounced off them, making the lenses glint suspiciously at me. I avoided his gaze and nonchalantly took a loud slurp of my tea.

But once I'd finished breakfast, he dragged me aside.

"Lucy, what is going on with you?" he asked.

It was getting harder and harder for me to lie- when I contorted my facial features into a mask of bland surprise, my heart wasn't in it. "Nothing- why do you ask?"

"You've been off it for weeks," he replied. "And it's not even because of-" her name hung in the air, unspoken. _Mary._ "Maybe Lockwood's blind to it all due to his mushy-gushy teenage lovestruck eyes towards you, but you can't fool me that easily. Stop blushing, I was there when you two lovebirds were at it two nights ago- _ow,_ what was that for?" I'd punched him in the arm.

"You _saw_ that?" I asked, half-embarrassed, half-disbelieving. "George Cubbins, you sneaky, eavesdropping-"

"That's _not the point,"_ he said, returning to his stern state. "The point is that you're not yourself, you're not alright. You're not _happy,_ Lucy, you've been stressing yourself out and it's beginning to affect not only you but us. Just look at yourself in the mirror. What's wrong? What's going on with you?" His tone had taken on a note I'd never heard before- was it _desperation?_

I couldn't lie to him. I couldn't.

I think there comes a time, for all people stuck in sticky situations, when someone confronts you and you're unable to make up things anymore. Maybe it's the intensity of their stare; maybe it's the fact that they've got you in a corner. No way out. _I know the truth, so there's no point in falsities anymore._

 _You can trust George,_ Sybil had said. I just didn't know how much.

Before I could reply, he'd grabbed my wrist and twisted it over before I could blink, pointing at the angry burn across my palm and the caps of my fingers. He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

There were so many things I could've said at that moment. _I burnt myself on our last case,_ or _you know how I am in the kitchen._ Anything.

But instead, to my own surprise and George's shock, I whispered, "I'm getting burnt by iron and silver."

"Alright," George sighed once we'd sat down in the library, Lockwood shut up in his room. "Alright. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I thought you'd overreact."

My answer felt incredibly stupid at he stared at me owlishly with his bored blue eyes.

"Overreact." he repeated.

I ducked my head. "I'm getting burnt by substances that are anti-plasmic. Wouldn't that be cause for _some_ speculation?"

"Of course, Lucy," he sighed tiredly, like I was a dramatic teenage girl (which I was, but to be fair, I was a lot more grown-up than other people my age), "but your wellbeing comes first. And if you're- well- _semi-ghost,_ it's our job as psychic investigators, but more importantly, as your _friends,_ to figure out what's going wrong and help you out."

But I knew what was going on. I just couldn't tell.

"Just-" I hesitated, stammering. "Fine. I don't know why I'm like this-" _Liar._ "-but I think it has something to do with my Talent." _Still a liar._

"Your Talent?"

"It's becoming stronger, and I think- maybe- I'm getting too involved with Visitors? I don't know." _That's not the truth._

George frowned. "How are we going to prevent _that?"_ he asked in half incredulity.

I hung my head. "I'm not sure." _It'll recede in a week or so._

"I don't even know where we're going with this," he looked agitated. "Alright, Lucy. We _are_ going through a lot here, aren't we? We'll address this once everything blows over. When we get the Skull back, and when we catch Penelope's stalker, and when your sister's killer is caught, the two of us are going to figure out what's wrong and we'll help you. But I'm _not_ going to stop looking for answers, I _promise."_

My heart lifted a little, but I still felt guilty. "Thanks, George," I said. "Wait- you won't tell Lockwood?"

He'd gotten up, but he paused at the door. "Lockwood's main aim all these years has been to exterminate ghosts," he said carefully. "And I'm not sure where that puts you."

All of a sudden, my stomach felt like a hollow void, and I couldn't breath through the ice that had formed in my lungs. "What? But doesn't he care about me?" I didn't register how childish my words sounded.

"Of course he does, Lucy, and finding out would in no way diminish his affection towards you," George said hastily. "But he's all about efficiently eradicating Visitors. And he wouldn't want to get closer to you and find out you're almost-"

I understood what he was trying to say, but I didn't really understand _why._ "He wouldn't hate me," I said in a low voice, "Would he?"

George's face looked pained. "No," he replied. "But look at it this way, Lucy. His parents were ghost-hunters, and in the end, their profession got them killed. Why would Lockwood see the things that predominantly got them into a dangerous line of work and endangered them, as friends?"

I felt like a fish out of water, gasping for air. It didn't matter if Lockwood and I were- not a _couple._ But if he couldn't even stand being my _friend?_ The thought was more than I could bear.

"Okay," my voice sounded choked. George probably understood that as the signal to leave me alone, and as I heard the sound of his footsteps receding, I put my head in my arms and tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

When evening came, I was bored out of my mind, tapping a pattern on the table with my left hand while I idly doodled something with my right. I could hear Lockwood arguing with someone on the phone. George was sitting on the couch opposite me, flicking through a comic book.

The pain of the morning was still fresh and sharp as a knife, but it did me no good to dwell on it. I'd tried to distract myself from my thoughts by reading, walking around aimlessly, making way too many cups of tea, and going so far as to arranging things around the house, much to George's surprisement and horror _"Have you been possessed by an OCD ghost?"_ (which was amusing because it wasn't that far from the truth).

I absently stared at what I'd been doodling and noticed it was Vernon Blight, the image of his smiling face still imprinted in my mind. I didn't think I'd ever be able to forget.

In the adjoining room, Lockwood's voice rose to a crescendo, and a few seconds later there was a loud crash as he smacked the receiver back down. He marched into the hall with anger in his stride.

"They realized we're not really looking for Sources, and now they expect us get back on duty! _Tomorrow!"_ he burst. "What's more, if we don't agree to it, they're suspending our _license!"_

George gave a low whistle, and I could sense the undernote of disgust in it. "They're that desperate, are they?"

"Sounds like it," Lockwood grumbled, going into a rant, and I blocked out all noise as I pondered this. What had made Fittes and DEPRAC so angry with the three of us?

Wait, Type Threes.

What had made _Ernest_ a Type Three, but _Vernon_ a Type Two? Or were they _both_ Type Threes of different variations? Excitement bubbled in me- I'd have to ask Blight about it when I got the chance- but I forced it down as I concentrated on the situation at hand. I had a brief flashback to when I'd been in interrogation.

" _...Nothing much. Just that Lockwood and Co. has violated laws- disobeying a police officer, keeping dangerous ghosts contained in domestic areas, and hiding from the government!" Barnes had snapped._

" _You're really exaggerating," I had mumbled._

" _We also had a search warrant to inspect your house. A search warrant, headed by Penelope Fittes herself..."_

The scratching of my pen halted and I snapped upright like someone had stuck a taser in my spine. Lockwood stopped talking abruptly and George turned to me.

"Lucy?" Lockwood asked nervously.

I pivoted, staring at him. "They'd gotten a search warrant, to inspect our house." I said slowly.

"Yes," he said. "So?"

"So they must've checked the Forbidden Room."

We all went dead quiet. I couldn't hear myself think over the static silence and the blood pounding in my ears.

Lockwood turned three shades whiter. "Wh- what?"

"Oh my lord," George sounded hushed, which was unusual for him. "They must have. But why didn't-"

"But they haven't turned us in," I said.

"Why didn't they?" he asked.

My heart beat fast as answers rang in my head. _Killer. Finality. Murder. Type Three._

"There's only one answer," I said slowly, growing more and more sure as I thought about what I was going to say. "Your sister's killer didn't want to report you or the case would be subsequently be reopened. And if the case was _reopened,_ then they might find new _leads,_ which would catch the criminal."

"That means..."

"That means the murderer is a part of Fittes or DEPRAC."

* * *

 **A/N: Finally, some leads!**

 **Celestialite: Thanks, that made me feel better :)**

 **ligersrcool: I'm glad to hear that!**

 **: And you're bloody awesome!**

 **Amy: I published this way before The Hollow Boy was released, since it was supposed to be a sequel to TWS. So naturally, it doesn't use any of the concepts from the third book. :)**

 **Meep: No, the spirits possessing Sybil AREN'T important- that much I can say- but the rest of your questions are really valid. Thanks for taking an interest in this! :) Have a great day!**

 **Guest(1): Thank you!**

 **Guest(2): Even though I could never be a better author than J. Stroud, that's really sweet of you. Thank you!**

 **Kahori Hirota: Thank you SO much for this review! I'd like to say that your English isn't strange at all, it's amazing that you've taken the time to learn a second language as complex as English.  
For my stories, I usually have a rough idea of the plot before I start writing, and as I progress through the chapters I fill in the gaps in my plot, and I distribute each climax evenly across the chapters so my writing remains interesting. I also like putting in a bit of action and drama too, so there's something other than suspense.  
Thank you for taking the time to read this and ask me a question, and I wish you success with your own story! Have a great day! :)**

 **Cynadred: Yess! That was something I was playing with for a while and I decided to put it in.**

 **AgentStarryNightSky: Thank you! XD And oh man, tell me as soon as you publish your fanfic. I'd love to read it. AND WHO ARE YOU REALLY :O**

 **ZakariVinex: Thank you! I really needed that- I'm glad to hear that I've maintained the level of interest for this fanfiction. Your review means a lot to me! Have a great day! :)**

 **Cassi0peia: Awww THANK YOU. I'm relieved you enjoyed (I wasn't very sure about that chapter, or this one), have a GREAT week :)**

 **So yeah. On the issue of mental health. I hope you're all okay, and if you're not, please talk to someone about it. You deserve to be happy.**

 **-Artemis**


	25. Not A Chapter (Will Be Deleted Later)

I'm going to keep this as short as possible because I have a bad habit of oversharing (ha ha ha).

I checked my mail just a few days ago and found it overflowing with FanFiction+Wattpad notifications, half of them telling me to update, half of them asking me where I went. And I _do_ owe you all an explanation. The long answer: 2016 has been a very, very stressful year for me, I've lost interest in 75% of the things I deeply love(d), and I've had no motivation to do simple things like publishing a chapter or even getting out of bed. The short answer: I'm not doing great. At all.

Nevertheless, it's 2017 (happy New Years!) and I want to pick up from where I left off, because I severely dislike dropping things in the middle of completion. I checked the stats of my story half an hour ago and I could've sworn I updated later than May 21st 2016 (time has flown). The overwhelming amount of views and nice comments is the only thing spurring me on to finish this, because I've spent all my energy just getting through 2016 :)))))

So, anyway. **This isn't the end.** I am going to try _as hard as I can_ to finish this fanfic because I am so, so close to tying this up as this still remains the best thing I've ever written. I'm going to keep writing but I need some time to reread this entire fanfic, edit the grammar, and get back on track. Chapter 25 will come **by the 21** **st** **at the latest.** Thank you so much for sticking with me this far. I hope you're all doing well.

See you in two weeks (or less!)

-Artemis


	26. Chapter 24

**A/N: I honestly can't believe I pushed out 2,500 words. It felt impossible, to be honest. I was almost scared of getting back to writing.**

 **But I did it! And while this chapter may be a bit boring I'm glad I at least managed to finish it. I wrote half of this in school yesterday on crappy notebook paper, can you believe?  
Anyway, so here's the much awaited Chapter 25! Hope you enjoy!**

 **Thanks so much for all your support!**

* * *

24

I was not surprised when the house was silent for the next three days; even though the quiet was unnerving. I was not surprised when we talked to each other in short, choppy sentences the first day. I was not surprised when Lockwood shut himself in his room on the second day, refusing to come out, not even to eat. We were greeted by silence when we knocked. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he were dead.

I said it wasn't surprising. I didn't say it wasn't worrisome.

During these three days, I felt no contact from the Other Side, either. I'd held the papers. I'd strayed into Esperanza's room of death. I'd stayed up late at night speaking into air, hoping for the first time that some dratted apparition would pop up and try to kill me (or deliver a message). But I could, to my frustration, detect nothing. My dreams were black and empty. The dust in the forbidden room made me sneeze.

It was almost as though the Visitors were too shocked to speak, too.

I knew Lockwood's anger wasn't directed at us, and his rage was reasonable. He felt betrayed. We all felt betrayed. But we were so close. We just needed to narrow down the list among Penelope's search party and we'd find the killer.

(That would make probably make it a lot easier for me, too, since everything was connected, apparently, and ghosts are so bloody vague)

The problem was, we didn't know where to start.

We'd guessed that Penelope wouldn't take too kindly to us demanding a list of her employees who frisked our house. I could almost imagine her raised eyebrows and pout as she queried, "What on earth for?" No. We'd be walking towards our own doom.

So as three days of silence passed, I grew less and less patient, and more and more desperate. Floating Joe was hacked to death by my rapier. On snapping myself out of trances, I found that I'd been staring at the cloth that used to cover the Ghost Jar. I overslept in the hopes that I'd see something in my dreams.

I just didn't know what to do.

On the fourth day, Lockwood came out of his room.

He was deathly pale. His eyes were sunken, He looked fragile, like he could be blown away by the wind. But his eyes were black pits of hot tar, and his insidious gaze gave off the impression that he was ready to kill a man.

Of course, this threatening appearance had no effect on George and I whatsoever, as we manhandled him into a chair and forced food down his throat.

"I understand you want to appear all angst-filled and enigmatic," George chided, disdain dripping from his voice, "but maybe you could do that without falling into self-destructive tendencies."

Lockwood made an indignant noise behind the cream bun stuffed into his mouth.

Once we were all sitting around the table with mugs of tea in our hands, Lockwood considerably nourished back to health, he spoke.

"We're close," he said. "Let's end this blasted mess once and for all. I've been thinking-"

"And I'd have never thought you could do it," George applauded. Congratulations on your coherence, Lockwood-"

Lockwood shot him a glare that properly shut him up.

"Anyway," he continued. "Fittes must keep records of whatever they do. All companies must, right?"

We nodded. I had a bad feeling in my gut, hoping he wasn't thinking what I suspected he was thinking.

"So they've got to have stuffed away the report of our house somewhere with the files. And since they're pretty recent, they must be in the filing cabinets on the bottom floor."

"So you're saying…" George enunciated slowly.

"I'm saying we can break in. One of us makes a distraction, the others find the file. It must have the list of inspectors who checked the house- it's practical. We'll nick it, do our own research on the agents and narrow it down from there."

He paused, and there was a quiet tension hanging in the air. It broke as we all started talking at once.

"We'll get caught, definitely-" I began.

"Fittes security is extremely tight-" George interrupted.

" _Please don't leave me alone in this!"_ Lockwood shouted.

We all fell silent.

I knew how much this meant to Lockwood, but it seemed virtually impossible. There was a slim, slim chance we'd find the files without getting caught, and an even smaller one that we'd make it back alive (or without being incarcerated).

But this was Lockwood.

He'd do the same for us in an instant. That was just… him. Decisions first. Plans later. He just _did._

So I took a deep breath. How bad could it go? (Pretty bad.) We could make it out. (Probably not.) I had the Other Place on my side. (They weren't talking to me.)

"Okay," I said. "We'll stick by you. I'm in."

Lockwood grabbed my arm and squeezed. He didn't speak, but that gesture, and his eyes, conveyed more than words could say.

"Me too," George chimed in. "Without me, you lot would be dead." He paused. "But what if we get caught?."

"We won't." Lockwood flashed us his signature 1000-megawatt smile. "I'm not planning to."

* * *

We were going to get caught.

It was around one a.m. and I was very quickly losing my faith in Lockwood's 'plan'. We'd had less than fourteen hours of preparation, Fittes was vast and labyrinthic, and we were going to be running around the corridors like headless chickens being chased by a hungry fox.

Of course we weren't going to back down, though. Not now.

We were dressed in uniforms- Fittes-style uniforms, all formal and posh. We looked like workers, accountants maybe. Lockwood wore a hat, huge glasses and a slightly less tight coat. George had ironed his clothes (a rare event).

I had one bag. I wore heels and a blue coat with my best leggings. The coat wasn't mine.

" _Take this," Lockwood had said earlier that day, tossing me something a gorgeous peacock blue. "It was my mother's. One of her favourites. It'll suit you for this operation, I should think."_

" _Are you sure about this?" I had asked worriedly, looking it up and down. I wasn't the best when it came to the maintenance of one's clothing._

" _I'm sure. Go ahead, try it on! Let me help you." He took it from me and held it up as I slid my arms into the sleeves and shrugged it on half-reluctantly._

 _I turned and gave a small smile. "Well…"_

 _Lockwood was grinning, his cheeks slightly pink. "You should wear blue more," he said. "You look great."_

 _I could feel my ears burning._

" _Thanks," I mumbled._

" _Oi, lovebirds!" George called from the next room. "You done yet? We need a plan or we're bloody screwed!"_

"Most of the doors inside Fittes are locked with keycard scanners," Lockwood said, pulling his hat down low. "The files aren't very important unless they're top-secret, which I don't think matches our case. We'll be able to get through the doors easily- but nobody recognizes us as workers. We've been here before plenty. And Lockwood and Co. Is rather… infamous at Fittes after all these past events, to put it 're bound to suspect something."

"How do we know the files are here, though?" I asked. "They could just as easily be at DEPRAC. They insinuated the investigation, after all."

"But the party was headed by Penelope Fittes," Lockwood replied. "She wouldn't come out for such inspections unless they held some certain degree of importance to her agency. Ergo, they're here. So this is what we're going to do."

He stood still for a minute, then pointed. "He's a worker," he told us, signaling to a man in a suit with a briefcase exiting the building complex. "Wait here."

He waited for the man to walk a bit closer, then set off at a brisk pace, headed straight in his direction. He took three long strides and rammed into the man sideways, sending them both down. Lockwood straightened first.

"So sorry, sir, so sorry," he said in a thick voice, hat covering his forehead, glasses askew. "I'm so clumsy, let me help you up-"

The man scrambled to his feet, scowling. "Watch where you're going," he snapped, turning away, picking up his briefcase and stalking off.

Lockwood waited till he was out of sight, then walked to us.

"Got it," he said.

"Got what?" George asked.

Lockwood extracted a rectangular object from his pocket. I strained my eyes to look at it.

It was a Fittes keycard.

My mouth fell open. "Lockwood, you _pickpocket?"_

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed, but his eyes shone. "It's not that hard. And you can't exactly put it past me," he joked, slipping it back into his coat.

 _Don't trust him,_ Sybil's voice sang in my head.

 _Shut up,_ I told it.

We headed straight for the gleaming building. Fittes is always active, especially late at night, the time when the power of Visitors is at its pinnacle. Much needs to be done. The crowd's always huge, and we were using it to our advantage that day.

We stepped through the doors, swallowed by the sudden flurry of people. Nobody looked at us twice. Nobody saw Lockwood and Co. They just saw three boring agents.

Lockwood handed me the keycard.

"Go," he said. "I'll meet you outside in approximately-" he glanced at his watch, "-six minutes. Be quick. Riot's starting now." He left us, pushing through the crowd to make his way to the other side of the room.

George and I hurried away. "Here," George pointed to our left at a corridor leading to a set of double doors. "When I worked here, I always saw accountants with files heading this way."

We made our way down the hall, then stopped. The doors were guarded by two agents with gleaming rapiers and hard eyes.

I was about to speak when I heard a shrill scream behind me. _"He's getting away!"_

We spun around to see a tall, gangly figure in a hat hurrying in the opposite direction with a bunch of notes in his hand, probably stolen directly from the front desk. "Those are Grade-A classified files! _Get him!"_ The woman behind the desk screeched.

"Hurry, now," George grabbed my arm as the agents by the double doors left their positions and made a beeline for Lockwood. I could see swarms of guards leaving their posts just to get to Lockwood. Alarms started off suddenly, blaring in our ears, causing me to cringe and nearly stop running to clasp my hands over my ears. The noise, and my pulse, pounded away at my skull. We sprinted down the corridor, squeezing through the doors and entering another room. I debated how to lock the door behind me, then braced myself, stepping back, and rammed my elbow into the keycard scanner. It smashed with a crisp clinking sound, sparking a little bit, and I marveled at how I hadn't gotten an electric shock. I hadn't a clue how we'd leave the room, since our only exit was now disabled, but we'd cross that bridge when we got to it. Besides, now nobody could enter, either. I rubbed my stinging elbow, then glanced around the room. We were already here. I could see files upon files stacked in neat rows, some thrown haphazardly on desks and trolleys. Ours had to be in here somewhere.

"We have around five minutes," I said. "Let's get to this!"

George took one side of the room and I took the other. I could hear yells outside the door, ensued probably from all the workers, and I wildly hoped they'd not caught Lockwood yet. My fingers, trembling from the adrenaline, raked past the A, B, C, D slots. No good. I scanned the shelves till I found _L._

"Got anything?" George yelled.

"Not sure. Keep looking!" I called back.

My eyes darted across the letters, the words flying through my brain like a horrible mish-mash of written screams. I searched again and again through the pile, looking but not really seeing, trying to find a _Lockwood, Anthony_ somewhere in there.

"There's a separate stack for inspections over here!" George hollered. "Help me out!"

I dashed towards him, abandoning my search. Three minutes, probably. It had _got_ to be in here, it had to. I wasn't going to entertain the thought of what would happen to us if it wasn't. I wasn't going to entertain the thought of us getting caught.

Together we desperately looked through the enormous bundle, fingers prying at the edges, hair disheveled, noises whirling around us, muffled by the walls.

We were so, so close.

Had Lockwood been captured yet?

George gave a triumphant laugh. "Got it!" he cried. _"Lockwood, Anthony, 35 Portland Row._ This is dated just a little while back. This is it!"

He handed it to me and I flipped through it. Through my panic, my eyes could bleakly make out the headings _agents_ and _findings,_ and names listed down in neat print. This was it. I stuffed it into my bag, breathing hard. We'd done it, without any interruptions. It was too good to be true.

Somebody began to bang on the doors, trying the doorknob in vain. They couldn't enter. The scanner was smashed."Who's in there? Come out now! You've all been caught!"

George and I stared at each other in horror. Then I noticed something behind him.

"Back door!" I whisper-shouted. He turned and we stared at the glorious rectangle of light a few feet ahead of us. I'd never loved a door more in my life than at that moment. We ran for it, throwing it open and sprinting down the hallway.

"I know this route, it's slightly familiar!" George panted. "The exit should be- this way!" we turned left at a fork, kept sprinting.

I could see the main lobby of Fittes straight ahead of us. It was in chaos. People were ruffled, yelling, pointing fingers. It would be risky to just head through there, but we had no other options.

 _Lucy…_

I stopped dead, nearly tripping over my own feet. I turned in circles. There was only one blasted creature on earth that spoke like that, that made my skin crawl.

"Skull! Where are you!"

 _In the room to your right. Come quickly, I'm dying of boredom._

"George, keep going! The skull's here. I heard it! I'll meet you outside!"

"Are you _barking mad?_ We don't have time-"

I didn't wait for him to finish. My eyes fell on a room to my right a little way ahead. I barreled into it and the first thing I spotted was the skull, right on the table, in the center, like an opera singer in a huge stadium, waiting to be watched. The sight made me shiver. My arms reached out for it.

 _Careful, you'll burn-_

My palms shrieked with agony as they touched the silver-glass and white-hot pain spread through my fingertips all the way till my shoulderblades, numbing me all round. I almost dropped the jar, but I clung on, sparks igniting at every point of my skin. I ignored the pain, my pulse throbbing in my temples, and shoved the jar in my bag.

"Lucy! Hurry!"

I made for George again and he grabbed my burnt fingers. I resisted a yelp of pain and forced my legs to keep moving as we pushed through the crowd, people all around us. The commotion was too loud, and I was tired, and confused, and the struggle seemed neverending-

-We burst into the fresh air of the open night, gasping for breath. I fell to my knees, squeezing my eyes shut at the stitch in my side and the hurt in my hands. Lockwood was nowhere to be seen.

"Lockwood," I groaned, "Where's… Lockwood…"

We looked back to the building and there came a sudden awful crash, a splintering of glass, as one of the windows on the first floor shattered. A dark figure came tumbling through, landing harshly on the ground with a crack. People burst through the main doors of the building as it got to its feet painfully.

Lockwood stared at us, his face contorted. He stumbled. The fall from the window must have ached.

The guards were getting closer.

"Run," he said.

We didn't need telling twice.

Together we ran.

* * *

 **arael205ar: ahhh thank you! Hopefully I'm going to be back longer haha**

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* * *

 **Also, guys, it would be great if you could join the Lockwood and Co. forum started by ligersrcool. (The fandom's really tiny hahaha).**

 **Have a good weekend, I hope this chapter was up to par.**

 **As for the next update, can't promise anything for next week, but I WILL definitely update by the 14th of February (Valentine's day whooo). Keep an eye out for Saturdays.**

 **-Artemis**


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